


Salted Nut Rolls

by Commander



Category: Hey Arnold
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-20
Updated: 2009-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commander/pseuds/Commander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would be a daunting enough task to tutor the weird girl with the bizarre hair and bizarre fashion sense even if you had never actually met her. It was downright scary to tutor that girl and know that, at least once, she had been in love with you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that I'd actually had the vague idea for for years and years and years. I did watch _Hey Arnold!_ as a kid and enjoyed it, but it wasn't my favorite of the NickToons, so the idea just kind of lay dormant for all that time before I suddenly started rewatching the show. I was aware that the plotline of "teenage Helga and Arnold hook up" has already been done a thousand times over, but I still wanted to put my own spin on it. 3/4ths of the story was written only a month, but then both my inspiration and free time took a nose-dive and it took me a couple of months to finish up the last few chapters.
> 
> Currently, this is my most popular fic on FF.net. Whether that's because it's actually a popular pairing for a popular fandom, or it's just that much better than everything else I've ever written, I'm not sure. I am rather proud of this one, though. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Quite possibly the worst class to have for ninth period, the end of the day, was algebra. This would hold true even if your ex-girlfriend _wasn't _in the same class as you, seated just two rows away from you. But she was.

Arnold Short shifted uncomfortably in his desk.

Melissa Hopkins was ex-girlfriend number two, actually. She and Arnold had started dating last March and had lasted all the way through July twenty-fifth. That had been the day when Melissa had said, "You know, Arnold, we've been dating for awhile now, but you haven't once told me that you love me."

Arnold hadn't known what to say to that. His first impulse was to say, "That's because I don't," but that would have been way too much a slap in the face… even though it was true. Arnold hadn't really known her that well until they started going out. Their dates had consisted mostly of going to junior high dances and seeing movies at the theater, during which neither would say much to each other, just sit back and watch the movie. Arnold still hadn't felt he really knew her that well, and certainly didn't feel that she knew him, when she announced at the end of one such movie, "I think I'm in love with you."

His first thought was "You're kidding me, right?"—again, a totally inappropriate response. Belatedly, he had realized that the two times in his relatively young life a girl had told him she loved him, his response had been the wrong one both times. At least this time he hadn't said it out loud. He had only stared at her, confused.

Melissa giggled. It was an annoying sound. "You're cute. Well, see you later."

She had left with that, leaving Arnold to stare at her in shock. What on _earth _did this girl think that love was? Thinking someone was cute? Arnold certainly thought Melissa was a pretty girl, but that did not love make. He still hardly knew her enough to really consider her a close friend, let alone be in love with her! And as for her, she knew _nothing _about him!

And by July, he still hadn't really felt he knew her enough to tell her he loved her. "Melissa," he had said to her after her accusation, "love's a big word. I don't… I don't want to go throwing it around when I—"

"—don't love me," Melissa finished.

"That's not what I was going to say," Arnold said hastily. "I'm trying to say that I want to make sure—"

"I think we should see other people," Melissa interrupted.

Arnold felt a strange feeling settle in his stomach. He knew that he should have felt crushed, betrayed, heck, even mildly disappointed. But all he could feel with those words was relief. This time _he _hadn't been the one to end the relationship.

"I think we should too," said Arnold. "I think you need to find a guy who really loves you, and who you really love. Because, forgive me for saying so… but I don't think you ever really loved me."

Melissa sighed. It wasn't particularly sad or angry. Arnold got the feeling that the end of their relationship was a relief to her too. "As if you would know about… Have you _ever _been in love? Have you ever cried over a girl?"

"No," said Arnold slowly. "Wait—except—once. Once I cried over a girl. But I wasn't in love with her." _I think that was why I cried, _he mentally added.

"You're frustrating," Melissa said. "You're one of the nicest, most caring boys at school, but your feelings, just, they don't go any deeper than that. It's like, I don't know, you _can't _love romantically. Don't think I'm mad at you, I'm not. I'm just… frustrated." She sighed again. "See ya this fall, Arnold. Good luck."

Having her with her in algebra class, then, was awkward, and not because Arnold felt any lingering feelings for her, because he didn't. It was awkward because every time he saw her, he had to evaluate her wrongness, about two things especially. About one thing he was certain she had been wrong, and about the other he certainly hoped she had been. The first one that he was certain about was her being in love with him. The second was his lack of romantic capacity.

No, that was wrong too, and if Melissa had ever actually gotten to know him well she would have discovered how wrong that was. He couldn't count the number of crushes he had had throughout basically his entire life! How many times had he become googly-eyed over a pretty girl—well, okay, yes they had all been pretty, but Arnold had liked other things about their personalities too, like their…prettiness…

Maybe she _was _right.

No, she wasn't. He knew he at least had a capacity in him to love. His expectations were just ridiculously high, that's all. That's what happens when you get a strange urge to read romantic books in the second grade—odd for anyone of that age, especially a boy. That's what happens when you have a secret love for gentle romantic movies that you know are stupid and unrealistic but you love watching them anyway. That's what happens when the first girl to declare her love for you does so in such a passionate and powerful manner that she indirectly raises your expectations so that _any _prospective love interest has to at least equal her intensity, which was quite frankly impossible.

Algebra was awkward, then, because he didn't like having to think of these things whenever he caught a glimpse of Melissa Hopkins out of the corner of his eye.

The final bell of the day rang, happily releasing Arnold from his thoughts. A new album by the band Sex Drugs and Muffins had just been released, and while Arnold normally wasn't very big into metal music, he had to admit that he liked their sound and was anxious to hear what new songs they had to offer. Besides, school had only been in session for about a week and a half, and his brain was still in summer mode.

"Arnold, wait a minute, I'd like to talk to you," his teacher, Mr. Quincy, suddenly said.

Arnold did his best to stifle his sigh of irritation.

"Don't worry, it won't take long." Mr. Quincy straightened up a pile of papers on his desk. "How would you like to be a peer tutor?"

"A… peer tutor?" Arnold repeated. He didn't know what to think about that.

"For a couple of days a week you'd stay after school, just for a half an hour or so, and help a student in one of my other classes. She's quite intelligent but she's been struggling with the material, and I think she could use a little extra one-on-one attention."

"I'm definitely happy to help, but… why are you asking _me? _I'm no math whiz." Arnold was not speaking from false modesty, either. True, he was intelligent and did well at math, but he couldn't compare to the lightning-fast minds of Lance Barrett, a boy who was a bit of a know-it-all, or Phoebe Hyerdahl, an old friend of his from elementary school.

"You definitely have math skills, but what you also have are _people _skills, which I think are more necessary in this case," Mr. Quincy said.

Uh-oh. That sure didn't sound promising.

Noting Arnold's apprehension, Mr. Quincy added, "Please, Arnold, this is why I'm asking you. If there was one person in the world who could get along with anyone, it would be you."

Arnold sighed in resignation. He had never had any intention of turning him down, although he was wishing at that moment that he could someday actually say "no" to someone. "Who is it?"

"Helga Pataki—you know, the girl with the weird hair—"

"_Helga Pataki?" _Arnold yelped. Yes, yelped. He hadn't been expecting to hear _that _name.

"You know her?"

"Yeah, I—uh—I went to elementary school with her—you're going to need to find a different tutor."

"What's this? I've found the one person on earth you can't stand?"

"It's not me," Arnold quickly explained, "it's her. She…" She what? Hates me? That was true and yet it wasn't. And even so he didn't even know _what _she felt for him anymore, seeing as they had hardly spoken to each other in the past three years. "She won't want me for her tutor," he finally said, managing to find a way of explaining the situation. "Trust me. You tell her my name and she'll break something."

"I'll take that challenge."

"What challenge?"

"I'll ask her if she's okay with you being her tutor. Trust me, Arnold, I really think you're the only one who can both handle her and help her. If you're both okay with it, then I really think it's the best possible solution. Are you okay with tutoring her?"

"Uh… yes, if she is," he answered truthfully. "I just really think that when you tell her you want _me _to tutor her, she'll flip."

"You've piqued my curiosity, Arnold—I'm rather looking forward to seeing her reaction. Anyway, that's all I wanted to talk to you about. Have a good day."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," said Arnold, trying to refocus his thoughts back on SD&amp;M's new album, but it wasn't happening. Too many unresolved issues from his childhood had suddenly been brought back to light.

…

Helga Pataki had been the one girl that Arnold Short had cried over.

It had been in the fifth grade, early in the school year. Arnold wasn't having the best day. He had forgotten to read for history and there was a pop quiz that he was sure he completely bombed, he tore a hole in his shirt when the sleeve had gotten snagged on the stair railing, he had spilled milk on himself at lunch… and that wasn't even the worst of it. At recess, the sixth grade bullies, led by Wolfgang, had ganged up on Arnold and tossed him in a dumpster. Arnold had hoped, foolishly, that they might have grown out of their bully stage by their age, but clearly that was a pie-in-the-sky wish.

The dumpster had fortunately recently been cleaned out, but this left little in the way for things to help him climb out on. It was a large dumpster and Arnold was small, and while he could peer out of the top he couldn't climb his way out, the walls having no traction to help him. And unfortunately, there seemed to be no fellow fifth graders who had seen what had happened. A few third graders had witnessed his humiliation, but they were too in fear of the sixth graders to dare undo their dastardly deed.

In fact, there was only one fifth grader who was within sight, leaning against the flagpole by herself, scowling as usual.

"Helga!" Arnold called. "Could you help me out of here?"

Without thinking, she looked at him, destroying any excuse she could have made of not hearing him. At first she didn't move from her spot, only staring at him as if to say, "You have _got _to be kidding me," but then her eyes flashed to the left, then to the right, presumably to make sure no one would see her actually performing a good deed—for Arnold, of all people. Finally she made her way over to the dumpster, still scowling. "Criminy, football head, how do you manage to get yourself into these situations?" she snapped at him.

"Just help me out, okay?" Arnold sighed, reaching out a hand.

Helga extended her hand, too, and clasped his in her own. But she made no move to pull him up, instead looking intently at their hands. Arnold wasn't sure what to make of this, although he figured it was either one of two things. One, she was having second thoughts of helping him. Two, she was enjoying touching him. Just about six months previous had been the FTI incident, during which many things had happened, one of the most shocking being Helga telling Arnold that she was in love with him. And kissing him. Arnold had not only not known what to make of _that _development, he didn't _want _to try to make anything of it. So, in his desperation, in his search for something that could bring things back to normal, he had suggested to Helga that she had simply been caught up in the heat of the moment. Helga took the suggestion gladly, which had led Arnold to believe that maybe the heat of the moment thing _was _true.

But, and what frustrated him and confused him the most, was that the more he thought about it (and he couldn't not think about it), the more Helga being in love with him made sense. He found that it could feasibly explain all those weird little things about her. Almost every memory he had of Helga acting utterly bizarre—even for her—all he had to do was think, "She was doing that because she was trying to hide that she was in love with me," and click. Suddenly it—_she_—made sense.

She continued holding his hand, just staring at it, and Arnold stared at their hands too, wishing he could think of something—anything—to say. For the first time, he found that he _did _want to know the truth of Helga's feelings, even if that meant something more intense than what he was ready for. He wanted more than anything to ask her, in the quietest voice possible, in the privacy of the dumpster, "Are you really in love with me?" In fact, he almost did. But he stopped himself just in time. These were _her _emotions, not his, and she had been the one to bring it up in the first place. If she wanted to talk about it with him, she'd tell him. It wasn't his place to bring up something that she seemed to want to keep at the back of her mind. _She _was the one who was in love—presumably. He had no business trying to drag feelings out of her.

"Arnold—" Her voice was uncharacteristically soft and gentle, and Arnold looked up at her. Her scowl was gone. She hesitated, then opened her mouth.

The laughter of Harold, Stinky, and Sid suddenly pierced the quiet.

And, just as suddenly, Helga let go of Arnold's hand, literally with a shove, pushing Arnold back against the back wall of the dumpster with a clang. "You loser!" she shouted maliciously. "If you're going to let yourself get pushed around by a couple of sixth graders maybe you _deserve _to stay in that dumpster, football head!" She laughed and left him in the far corner of the dumpster, unable to see her or anyone, as he trembled with… anger.

Harold, Sid, and Stinky helped Arnold out. He went to the nurse's office and got cleaned up. He sat through school the rest of the day unresponsive, seething, not able to pay attention. Gerald, of course, had noticed something was wrong, but Arnold insisted at the end of the day that he just needed to be alone. Arnold hadn't told anyone, even Gerald, of Helga's confession. Again, that was _her _secret, and he wasn't about to go and breach her trust. Although he wished now that he _could _talk to someone, anyone, about it. He lay in his bed, staring up at the sky through his skylight, breathing heavily with anger and confusion, wanting advice because for one of the first times in his life, he couldn't figure out how to solve a personal dilemma. Of course the unsolvable one had to be _his._

_Why can't you just tell me that you love me? _he thought to himself, to Helga, his insides shaking. _I know you do! Why do have to treat me like crap? Why do you need to hide it? Can't you see you're just making this worse?_

Tears, both angry and helpless, blurred his vision. He pulled his pillow to his face and forced out the tears, not caring that he was ten years old and too old to cry by most accounts.

_I don't know what to do until you do something. And even though we're both trying to keep things the way they were… they can't be anymore, because I know how you feel. They just can't… be… the same… so why are we both trying to keep them that way?_

…

But things had stayed the same. Helga harassed Arnold, and Arnold never let them get alone with each other again, not wanting to have to deal with her fluctuating outbursts. Fifth grade came and went, sixth grade came and went, and suddenly seventh grade and junior high came along, and with it came sharing classes with the alumni from the six other elementary schools in the district. Classes were suddenly filled with different people each period, often with students from other elementary schools. Arnold and Gerald were still best friends, but his other elementary school friends slowly began to get lost in the shuffle. As for Helga, Arnold took this opportunity to completely avoid her if at all possible, and she seemed to do the same. He sometimes did see her in the hallways, though—and she was hard to miss. Mr. Quincy had called her the girl with the weird hair, and that was an understatement. Long gone were the blonde pigtails and pink bow from elementary school. Now her hair was short, just past her ears, and she was constantly dying it every color of the rainbow. Sometimes she dyed it somewhat realistic colors like brown or black, but even those were often bright, glossy, and unnatural looking. But that was nothing compared to the bright greens, blues, purples, oranges, pinks, and reds that were usually sported on her head. Sometimes it was even two or three different colors at once. Her clothing was just as outrageous as her hair, with mismatched socks, blouses, vests, leggings, skirts, and sweaters becoming her norm.

Arnold had really only seen her in a more than "passing each other in the halls" way once since then, at a ninth grade dance the previous year.

At that time, he was still with girlfriend number one, Wendy Mancuso. He had started dating her around the beginning of ninth grade. A lot of people had assumed that he had broken up with Lila Sawyer to do this, but he and Lila had never actually dated. In seventh grade there had been a few awkward moments between them, but Arnold no longer had a crush on her—the awkwardness simply came from the fact that he _did _once. Finally, just to get over the awkwardness and not wanting an eternal standoff like what seemed to have happened between him and Helga, Arnold one day said to Lila, "Lila, I don't have a crush on you anymore."

Lila, a little confused, had laughed a bit after a second or so. "I don't have a crush on you either, Arnold."

"Good," said Arnold. "Can we please be friends now?"

Lila laughed more freely this time. "Certainly, Arnold, I would like that ever so much."

Lila became Arnold's second best friend after Gerald. They spent a lot of time together and many people erroneously thought they were dating since they were with each other so often. But they were not romantically involved at all. In fact, it had been Lila who had pushed Arnold to ask Wendy out. Wendy was a sweet, gentle girl with light brown hair, who was actually a couple of inches shorter than Arnold (who unfortunately lived up, or rather down, to his last name). She was very nice, and Arnold enjoyed spending time with her, but after about a month of dating her he began to realize that she was… _smothering _him. She wanted to talk to him on the phone at least twice a day, she wanted him to spend all his free time with her, she wanted his complete attention. She was never demanding about this, nor did she actually berate Arnold when he failed to live up to her expectations, but she was always giving him a look of complete disappointment. The guilt-trip look. Arnold, who had trouble saying no and did genuinely like Wendy despite her passively demanding nature, fell for it every time.

At that certain ninth grade dance, however, Wendy was keeping such a short leash on Arnold, hardly even letting him talk to Gerald and Lila, that in desperation he told her he needed to use the restroom and, when she wasn't looking, bolted out of the gymnasium and into the cool autumn night to get a breath of fresh air. There were a number of other couples who had snuck out to make out where none of the chaperones could see them, so Arnold moved past them and to a bench to sit down. Only too late did he realize who was the sole other person at that bench: Marcus Rowe. Marcus was a complete trouble-maker, constantly bad-mouthing everyone, students and teachers alike.

Marcus didn't seem to mind Arnold joining him, however. "Skipping out on your girlfriend too, Short?"

"I'm not skipping out on my girlfriend," Arnold insisted. "I'm just getting a breath of fresh air."

Marcus laughed. "Yeah, that's what I told her, too. Well, you've gotten your fresh air, and your girl's waiting…" He motioned back towards the doors.

Arnold flinched. "Not yet."

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Wonderful himself."

"Can't a guy get any time to himself anymore?" Arnold muttered.

"Apparently not. You've barged into my alone time, anyway. So who are you dating? That redheaded chick?"

"No, Lila's just a friend," said Arnold with a sigh. He'd lost track of how many times he'd had to say that. "I'm dating Wendy Mancuso."

"Yeesh," Marcus said with a shudder. "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, and don't beat me up for saying anything against your girl and all, but that girl gives me the creeps. It's always the nice ones you have to look out for. I swear she has a basement full of dead bodies or something. Heck, you probably supply them to her."

Arnold laughed good-naturedly. "No dead bodies, but what she does have are the dreaded puppy-dog eyes. The eyes that can make you feel guilty and like the biggest jerk in the world for not returning her third phone call of the day."

"I knew she had a vile weapon of some sort," said Marcus, also with a laugh. "So what's yours? It's like I said, it's always the nice ones, and you're about as nice as they come."

Arnold smiled. "I guess my weapon is just my crushing niceness."

"You got that right. Just sitting next to you makes me suddenly want to get up and donate to charity or something."

Arnold laughed again. "You know, Marcus, you're alright."

"Of course I am! I'm not one of you nice guys who has to hide their dirty deeds. With me, what you see is what you get. Unfortunately, there isn't a girl in the world, nice or not, who's like that. They're always hiding something."

Arnold thought about Wendy. Before he had started dating her he had never known how skilled she was at booking guilt-trips, nor would he ever have expected such a thing from her. "Maybe you're right… I mean, I don't want to stereotype all females, I'm sure there's plenty of completely wonderful ones out there, but it's like they expect you to understand them completely before you even know them. At least, from my experience."

"And experience is the best teacher," said Marcus. "I'm still looking for that perfect girl, although I don't think I'll find her. All of us guys are just going to have to learn how to read their minds, I guess."

"Let me know when you figure out how to do that," said Arnold. "I could use some pointers."

"_There _you are!"

Arnold and Marcus both turned towards the voice. Standing in front of them were two girls, one shorter with long, light brown hair and wearing an ordinary dress; the other taller, wearing a dress that looked like it was from the 1950's with a plaid sweater vest worn over it and pink and purple leggings worn under it, her green hair cropped short against her head: Wendy Mancuso and Helga Pataki.

"I can't believe it! You _lied _to me!" Wendy screeched. "You said you were just going to the restroom—that you'd be right back!"

"I was just getting a breath of fresh air," Arnold quickly said. "I was coming right back—"

"You sure looked like you were getting pretty comfortable and—and _chummy_—right here! How could you _do _this to me, Arnold? How could you let me down?"

Helga snorted. "Wanna trade?" she asked sarcastically. She turned to Marcus. "Come on, asshole, if you're going to take me to a dance, then take me to a dance, don't completely ignore me. I didn't pay five bucks for a ticket to this thing just to stand around and watch all the other couples have fun." She grabbed Marcus by the wrist and forcibly pulled him off the bench, dragging him back to the door. "Criminy, you men are pieces of work!" In an instant they were back in the gym and out of sight.

"That goes for me too, Arnold," said Wendy, sounding the most forceful Arnold had ever heard her sound. "I didn't come here to spend time with my friends, I came here to spend time with _you. _Now—"

"Wendy, I don't want to date you anymore," Arnold suddenly said.

Wendy stared at him, not quite comprehending just yet. _"What?"_

Even Arnold had been surprised to hear that come out of his mouth, but he wasn't surprised that he meant it. "You never give me any time to myself. I've barely spoken to my best friends Gerald and Lila since we've started dating. I leave the dance for five minutes and you have a cow. I can't do this anymore, Wendy. I'm tired of your guilt-trips, and I'm tired of trying to live up to your expectations. I just want to be your friend."

"Are you breaking up with me?"

Despite how annoyed he was with her, Arnold still felt a twang of sorrow and guilt. "Yes," he said softly. "I think we'll both be better off as just friends."

"I don't know if we _can _be friends," Wendy muttered, turning around and running off before Arnold could say another word.

It did take awhile for the wounds to heal, but now Wendy and Arnold were at least able to talk to each other in a friendly way. Maybe they weren't friends, but they certainly weren't angry at each other. Because Arnold wasn't angry at either Wendy or Melissa. True, they had their faults, but so did everyone else. And he knew that he wasn't guiltless in the failures of their relationships. He had his faults, too. Like Marcus had said, it's the nice ones you've got to watch out for.

"_Wanna trade?"_

Throughout the months Arnold kept going back to those two words Helga had said. That she had said in a clearly sarcastic tone of voice, showing her annoyance with Marcus rather than her preference for Arnold. But Arnold still couldn't help going back to those words and wondering—_had _she wanted to trade? That had been one of the first times she had ever somewhat positively acknowledged him since that day in the dumpster in the fifth grade, that day where she had almost told him something—what, he didn't know. Perhaps she hadn't known, either. But as far as he knew, she was still in love with him. Maybe she had grown out of it. Maybe not. He didn't know. And thus he didn't know just how serious she had been with her "Wanna trade?" offer.

But that had been the last time he had really even made eye contact with Helga. It had been nearly a year ago. And while she hadn't completely belittled him like she used to do, Arnold still had no clue what to make of Helga's feelings for him.

He walked into Algebra the next day, tired from a long day of classes and having had very little sleep that night.

"Arnold, can you stay after school today and work with Helga, just for a little bit?" asked Mr. Quincy. "We have a quiz tomorrow and I'd like to start the tutoring as soon as possible."

"She's okay with it?" Arnold asked, incredulously.

"She's okay with it."

"You told her my name, right?"

"I did indeed."

"My full name?"

"I told her, and I quote, 'Helga, I'd like Arnold Short to tutor you. I talked to him about it and he said he was okay with it if you were, but he told me that he knows you from elementary school and wasn't sure if you'd want him as a tutor. Are you okay with Arnold Short as a tutor, or do you want me to find you a different one?' And she said, again I quote, 'No, Arnold will be fine with me.'"

"She said that?" Arnold couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes, she did. I was kind of disappointed, actually. You built up a lot of hype, and she turned out to be perfectly okay about it." He laughed. "Anyway, meet her in the tutoring room after school—you know where that is? Room 101, inside the library."

"I know where it is," said Arnold. "I'll be there."

"Just twenty to thirty minutes is all. Go over the homework for today—it's a worksheet over everything that will be on the quiz. You'll do fine."

"I hope so," said Arnold, trying to smile. He sat down at his desk just as the bell rang, and Mr. Quincy immediately went to the board and began the day's lesson on dividing fractions. Arnold only half-listened, feeling more and more nervous. He turned and looked at Melissa Hopkins, taking notes dutifully, not sparing a thought to Arnold. The awkwardness of having her in the room was nothing compared to what was coming up after school.

It would be a daunting enough task to tutor the weird girl with the bizarre hair and bizarre fashion sense even if you had never actually met her. It was downright scary to tutor that girl and know that, at least once, she had been in love with you.


	2. Chapter 2

Arnold stopped at his locker after school, putting away all of his books besides algebra. Added to the worry and apprehension of meeting Helga again, Arnold had to admit that he really knew nothing of teaching or tutoring. How on earth was he supposed to help her? Especially considering he was convinced she'd be sharpening a butcher knife when he walked in the room. He could hear her voice, cold and chilling, saying, _"You spurned my love for you… now you must PAY."_

_Oh, come on Arnold, get real._

"Hey man, you wanna go the arcade with me and Kevin?" Gerald Johanssen, Arnold's best friend since preschool, was standing next to his locker with his invitation that, to Arnold, sounded like a free pass out of hell.

Unfortunately, Arnold had given Mr. Quincy his word. "I'd love to, Gerald, but I've got to stay after school for a little bit and be a peer tutor. I could meet you there at around four o'clock, though. I should be done by then."

"Peer tutor?" Gerald raised an eyebrow. "How on earth do you get yourself into these kinds of things?"

Arnold sighed. "My somewhat advanced math skills and my top of the line people skills, that's how. The people skills being the deciding factor, from what Mr. Quincy said."

"Sheesh! Who are you tutoring, the spawn of Satan?"

Arnold couldn't help but smile. "Helga Pataki, actually."

"Holy Toledo! Even worse! Satan herself!"

Arnold laughed out loud. "Well, I wasn't going to say it…"

"Well, good luck, Arnold. I do not envy you at _all, _I gotta say. You want me to be a witness to your will or something?"

"Oh, come on, Gerald. I haven't even talked to her since elementary school. She can't still hate me." _And she can't still love me, either, _Arnold thought to himself, trying to quell his fears.

"I don't know," said Gerald, looking a combination of worried and "sucks-to-be-you". "That girl's still got claws and fangs. She's in my history class and she can be one nasty piece of work when she wants to be. And seeing you might start her hatred all over again."

"Well see," said Arnold uneasily, not wanting to pursue this line of conversation anymore. This wasn't helping calm his fears at all. "Anyway, four o'clock at the arcade? You'll still be there?"

"Heck yes we'll still be there. We'll be waiting for you. And, uh, if you're not there by four thirty I'll just start the funeral arrangements, alright?"

"_Gerald," _said Arnold, with a tone of half annoyance, half laughter.

"Hey, it's the least I can do for my best bud." He and Arnold clasped their right hands and did their thumb "handshake" that they had been doing since before they could even remember. "See ya later, man."

"See ya, Gerald," said Arnold as Gerald headed towards the doors. He gulped as he looked down the hallway, quickly clearing out of students who had no desire to stay. There was no putting this off anymore. With another gulp, he headed towards the library.

The senior high building had been built in 1942, and the library was now far too small to accommodate the needs of the one thousand, one hundred and twenty-three students who attended, but it had a nice array of side rooms, useful for small classes or one-on-one tutoring. Room 101 was the first of such rooms. The door was closed—Arnold wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign. He was hoping that he would get there before Helga, just to give him more time to settle his nerves and figure out just what he was going to do and say. But what if she was already there? He hadn't exactly hurried at his locker.

Well, only one way to find out.

He opened the door. And sitting at the single table in the room, wearing shockingly bright blue leggings, a short pink plaid skirt, a long-sleeved black shirt, and a striped blue and brown tight polo shirt over it (the shirt looked as if it had come straight out of the seventies), was Helga. Her hair was almost normal looking—black—but it had an unnatural gloss and sheen to it that looked as though she had poured hair gel on it just minutes before.

She looked at him and gave him a half smile, half snort. "Hey there, football head."

Strangely enough, her usage of her elementary school nickname for him relieved much of the tension. Arnold gave a small laugh. "Hey, Helga."

"So, dispense your wisdom, O Guru of Algebra," she said, leaning back in her chair.

Arnold let out a small laugh again, although this one was more out of slight confusion. "Well, uh… what is it that you've been struggling with?" he asked, sitting down in the chair next to her.

"Oh, the usual: parents, grades, loser friends, having to baby-sit my nephew every hour of the day, life—"

"I meant algebra related."

"Hmm. Of course you did. Well, here, take a look at this and figure it out for yourself." Helga dug into her book bag and pulled out a worksheet, one of their homework assignments from a few days ago, and handed it to Arnold. On the top, written in bright red ink, was "62%—SEE ME".

"Hmm," said Arnold. Helga smiled. Arnold took no heed of it, however. "Do you mind if I…?" he asked, motioning towards the questions on the rest of the worksheet.

Helga rolled her eyes. "If I minded, football head, I wouldn't have given you the worksheet in the first place. Knock yourself out."

Arnold examined the questions marked wrong, his apprehensions almost completely lifted. Helga did not seem as though she wanted to strangle him, nor did she seem as though she was in love with him. These were both very promising signs.

"Well, it looks like you missed a lot of the questions on adding exponentials. Do you want to go over those first?"

"I suppose," sighed Helga. "I actually got all those right, though—I did them on my calculator. But we had to show our work and since I hadn't done any work and didn't know how I got my answer… I just made it up."

"Well, maybe if you tried writing it out, you'd find out that you can do it without a calculator," said Arnold with an encouraging smile.

Helga sighed. "Oh please, keep your Mr. Sunshine out of the picture—"

"Well, you're not going to get any better if I yell at you and say you can't do it," said Arnold. "Have you ever heard of that saying, 'If you believe you can, or believe you can't, you're probably right'? It's true. If you think you can do it, then you can do it." He pulled out the worksheet for that day. "Here's our quiz review. I'd like you to work on problem, uh… seventeen without a calculator."

"Very well," said Helga, reaching for Arnold's worksheet.

"Uh, Helga, this is my worksheet. Unless you'd like to do my homework…"

"I'm the one who's being tutored here," said Helga with a snort. "I don't think you'd _want _me to do your homework." She pulled out her own copy of the assignment.

"I'll work on it too, and we'll see what we come up with," said Arnold.

"Works for me."

The two students zeroed in on their homework, pencils flying, hardly looking up at each other. Even so, Helga's pink skirt kept jumping out at Arnold from the corner of his eye. The way Helga dressed, it was hard to focus on something else in the room, even if you weren't directly looking at her. He couldn't help but wonder how the kids who had classes with her were able to get anything done.

"I like your skirt," he said without thinking.

Helga looked up at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"

Arnold felt his cheeks flush. Note to self—keep mouth shut. "I, uh, like your skirt. The color, I mean. It, uh… it looks nice." He turned back to his worksheet.

"Are you flirting with me or something?" Helga demanded.

Arnold smiled, but didn't look back up at her. "No, I am not flirting with you, I'm just saying that your skirt looks nice. It's kind of hard to ignore, actually."

Helga turned back to her homework as well, but she too was smiling. "Well, I know how much you love skirts, seeing as you used to wear one all the time."

"That was a _shirt, _Helga."

"So you say."

"I'm serious!"

"I know, I know. I'm just pushing your buttons. Shut up and finish your problem. I'm done."

"You're done?" Arnold still hadn't gotten very far on his.

"I can wait. Within reason." Helga leaned back again and folded her arms, watching Arnold continue to work on number seventeen. "You know," she said after awhile, "I would return your compliment on my clothes, but you're just dressed so _boring."_

Arnold took a moment to look at what he was wearing that day. A blue T-shirt, jeans, sneakers. He smiled. "Well, not all of us can be free-thinking fashion-wise, I guess."

"You are attractive though," said Helga levelly. "I'll give you that, although I hate to admit it. But yes, you are quite good-looking."

Arnold hesitated only for a moment. The ease of their conversation thus far, added to the fact that Helga brought it up, gave him the push to attempt to resolve the unfinished business from his childhood.

"Coming from someone who's kissed me—more than once—I cant say I'm surprised at that."

"Oh jeez. You _had _to bring that up." Helga recoiled back again, looking for the first time that day slightly flustered.

"_You _brought it up." Seeing Helga's discomfort, however, Arnold immediately changed his tune. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, whatever. I would have been surprised if you didn't." She laughed, a bit awkwardly. "You must have peed your pants when Mr. Quincy told you who he wanted you to tutor."

"Close," Arnold admitted. He was nearly done with the equation, but his mind was swimming by this point. He sighed, dropped his pencil, and looked up at Helga. "Helga," he said slowly, "I've been wondering—and if I'm going too far and I'm making you uncomfortable just tell me and I won't bring it up again—"

"I think I know what this is about," said Helga softly.

"I think you do too," said Arnold.

There was silence, although Arnold could swear he could hear a crackling in the air between them. The elephant in the room had finally been brought to light, and there could be no true silence until it was taken care of.

"In… in the fourth grade," Arnold finally continued, "during that whole FTI thing, when you told me… when you told me you loved me…"

"When I told you I loved you," Helga continued, "but then later that day you asked me if I hadn't just gotten caught up in the moment and I said I had, and then I continued to hate on you for the rest of fourth grade, and all through fifth and sixth grade too, as if nothing had ever happened between us—and you want to know if what I said on that rooftop was really true. Is that it?"

"Yes. That's exactly it."

"Well, it wasn't exactly true."

Arnold jolted. He hadn't been expecting that. For all these years, despite Helga taking back what she had said, he had always believed that she did, indeed, love him. If it hadn't been true, then… why had she said it? What was the true explanation for the way she acted around him?

"I fucking _adored _you," said Helga.

Arnold blinked.

"Love was way too weak of a word for what I felt," Helga continued. "I lived and breathed for you. You were on my mind every waking second of every day, and in every single one of my dreams. You were my inspiration for everything. I worshiped the ground you walked on. I was so in love with you I couldn't think straight."

There was silence again. Arnold could do nothing but blink. He wasn't sure if Helga was waiting for him to say something, or if she was trying to find something else to say to him. He tried to say something, anything, but his throat seemed to have dried up.

"I… I knew you did," Arnold finally said, his voice cracking a bit. "I mean, after you told me but then took it back, I still knew that you'd told me the truth up there. The more I thought about it, the more you being in love with me… made sense, I guess. Even though it was such a crazy notion, you loving me, it still just… made you make sense."

"I'm honestly surprised you didn't figure it out by yourself," said Helga with a laugh. "I mean, I gave you so many clues—unintentionally, of course…"

"How long have… had…" Arnold realized at that moment that when speaking of her love for him, Helga was only using the past tense. That, and her frankness about the whole ideal, was leading Arnold to believe that she had, in fact, grown out of it. "I mean, when did you first—"

"The day I met you. The first day of preschool. You probably don't remember."

Arnold shook his head. He couldn't ever remember meeting Helga—of course he knew that he had met her for the first time once, but that had been so long ago that it just seemed as though he had been born knowing her. "That was preschool, we were what, three? How could I remember something that far back?"

"Oh trust me," said Helga. "If it was the day you first fell in love, you'd remember it too."

"Well, what… happened? When we met, I mean? What was it that…"

"I was having the shittiest day imaginable," said Helga bluntly. "My parents were so busy fawning over Olga that they forgot to take me to preschool, so I had to walk there. It was only like a mile away but that's a really long walk when you're three. And it was raining and I didn't have a raincoat or umbrella. I had to walk through a bad neighborhood and a dog stole my lunchbox and I got splashed with mud and… oh shit." She discreetly wiped a tear from her eye.

"Wow," said Arnold softly. "That's terrible, Helga."

"I know it's dumb for me to cry about it," she said quickly, "but come on, you can't get much worse circumstances when you're three. Anyway, so I somehow managed to find the preschool. I'm wet, cold, crying, alone, all that. But then suddenly… this umbrella appears above me, and I turn around and I see… you."

"Me," Arnold repeated softly. Even though he couldn't remember any of this, he already knew where this was going, and he already understood just why Helga had been in love with him.

Helga laughed softly. "And then you smile at me and tell me that you like my bow because it's pink like my pants. What's with you and liking the color pink, anyway?" She tugged at her skirt, and Arnold couldn't help but laugh a bit at that. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary for you. It's always been in your nature to be caring and help others. I thought about that day a lot, obviously. I always couldn't help but think that if that _had _been an isolated incident for you, that you were only taking pity on me because I was so miserable that day but any other day you wouldn't give me or anyone else two seconds of your time… that then, my crush on you was just a crush and I would have gotten over you pretty quickly. But the problem was that you really _were _that sweet and caring. Every day you were always nice to me, always saying nice things to me, even when I was being a jerk to you… even when everyone else was ignoring me." She shrugged, almost helplessly. "So how could I _not _have fallen in love with you under those circumstances?"

There was silence again. Arnold rubbed his arm uncomfortably. "I'm, uh… I'm sorry for bringing this all up again, Helga."

"Oh, please, Arnold," said Helga, rolling her eyes. "Don't you realize how therapeutic this is for me? I kept my feelings secret for so long and they were eating me up and turning me insane. I had to pay attention to you somehow, but I didn't want anyone to know that I loved you, so the only thing I _could _do was harass you. Which reminds me—I owe you a huge, huge, _huge _belated apology for how much of a bitch I was to you."

"Uh…" Arnold, again, didn't know what to say to that.

"I know it's a lame excuse—'I only treated you like shit because I was in love with you'—but it's the truth. Damn, does that sound stupid. But anyway, really, you don't know how sorry I am. Even back then I hated treating you that way. I guarantee you, after every single time I did anything mean to you, as soon as I could I'd find some place where I was alone so I could berate myself for treating the love of my life with such cruelty."

"Uh…" Arnold's vocabulary seemed to have been reduced to that once utterance.

"I know, you're thinking I was crazy. And I was. I was insane and I knew it. So finally, after sixth grade ended and we were about to go to junior high, I decided, 'You know what, it's a new beginning for me and I want to change who I am. I'm tired of being so wrapped up in Arnold that it's affecting my everyday functioning.' So I decided I had to kill you."

_That _jumped Arnold out of his stupor. "You had to _what?"_

"Metaphorically, of course," Helga quickly said. "I had all these shrines to you, all these mementos of you, like locks of your hair and stuff, and thirty-two books of poems all about you, and—"

"_Thirty-two?" _Arnold repeated, incredulously.

"Yep."

"Holy cow."

"You're telling me. Anyway, I burned them. All the poetry volumes, all the shrines, all the mementos—anything and everything I had that was related to you I burned. It was…" Her voice trailed off. "Dammit, Arnold, it was the hardest thing I've ever done. I know you'll think it's silly, but it was like I was killing myself. I _was, _kind of, because I had let you take over my life so much you had practically _become _my life. So I knew I had to do it, but it literally felt like I was twisting a knife through my heart when I burned all that stuff. It hurt me so bad that I cried throughout it all, and I even screamed and fainted towards the end. I couldn't take the pain anymore."

Arnold just stared at her, his jaw hanging open.

"But it was for the best," she insisted. "Really. When I woke up I felt… _free. _I thought of you and I didn't feel any longing, any tugs at my heart, and that was when I knew it had worked. I was over you. Granted, I had to get over you in a really dramatic way—but that was the only way it could have worked. And it did."

"So… so you're completely over me now," Arnold clarified.

"Indeedy-do," nodded Helga. "For three glorious years now I've been living just for myself, not for you, and it's been wonderful."

"And that's why you were okay with me being your tutor?"

Helga smirked. "Oh, _that. _Well, to be honest, I didn't want anybody as a tutor, but Mr. Quincy pretty much told me I was going to be tutored whether I liked it or not, and I decided what the hell, maybe it'll result in just one less bad grade for Big Bob to yell at me for. So today, when he told me that he wanted _you _to be my tutor, I literally had to stop myself from laughing. You must have shit a brick when he asked you."

"Can you blame me?" Arnold said, good-naturedly rolling his eyes. "Every time you've ever interacted with me it's always been to extremes. I didn't know if when I walked in here you were going to rape me or kill me, but I figured it would be one of the two. And I was leaning towards kill."

"Oh, Arnold, Arnold, Arnold. I would never kill you on school grounds. I'd do it somewhere much more hidden."

They stared at each other, unsmiling, for about three seconds, until Helga finally broke into a laugh, Arnold quickly following her.

"Now, for God's sake, football head, finish your damn math problem. It's nearly four already."

"Already? Oh man. I was going to meet Gerald at four and we've hardly gotten anything done. And he's probably already convinced that you've killed me by now." He quickly turned back to his math problem.

"Criminy, you two are like elephants. Never forgetting." She leaned over to look at Arnold's progress, for he had started to scratch his head in confusion. "Add the second column to the exponential."

"Thanks." Arnold quickly did so, looked at his answer, and suddenly stared at Helga in surprise. "You completely understand how to do this, don't you?"

Helga smiled and shrugged. "You're the guru of algebra. Your teachings are quick and effective. That nonsense about believing you can do it seemed to have worked." She stood up and gathered her belongings into her book bag.

Arnold ripped a page out of the back of his notebook and quickly scribbled something on it. "Wait, Helga, before you go—here's my number. If you—"

"You're giving me your _number?" _Helga cried, incredulously. "Criminy, Arnold, I'm not in love with you anymore, remember?"

"I'm giving you my number," said Arnold slowly, "so that if you have any questions over your homework, you can call me and I'll try to help you. I want to see you improve your grade, and I know that you're smart enough to be one of the best in the class."

Helga stared at Arnold for a second or two before barking out a noise that sounded like a mixture between amusement and confusion. "For God's sake, Arnold. You haven't changed a bit. Can you _ever _actually be mean to someone?"

Arnold shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Criminy. No wonder I was so in love with you." She tucked his number into a pouch on her book bag and turned and left the room. "But don't think I'll be calling you!" she hollered after she was already gone.

Arnold let himself laugh again. "Whatever you say, Helga!" he called back at her.


	3. Chapter 3

"For Christ's sake, what took you so long?"

Helga sighed impatiently at her brother-in-law's greeting. "I had to stay after school and get tutored."

"Didn't it occur to you that you have a prior obligation to look after your nephew? Didn't it occur to you that I have a _job _that I'm already late for?"

"Look, sorry, but my teacher was pretty frickin' adamant that I start my tutoring today. And from the sound of things, I'm going to be staying after school getting tutored every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday until my grades improve."

"_Shit." _Owen Trotsky pressed his hand to his forehead. "Who's supposed to look after Stan now?"

"You know, you could always ask Miriam," Helga said, not bothering to hide her annoyance with him. _I still can't figure out why on God's green earth Olga ever wanted to marry you._

"I wouldn't trust your mom to be able to take care of a _goldfish." _Owen suddenly flinched. "Don't tell her I said that."

Helga snorted. "As if I ever talk to her." She swung her book bag off of her shoulder and picked up Stan, who was chewing on a teething ring. His first tooth, right in the middle of his lower mouth, was just starting to come in. "Besides, your shift doesn't start until 4:00 anyway. You're hardly late at all. Why do you always want me here so friggin' early?"

"Because getting in early and working overtime is sure to get me a promotion, that's why. I've got to go. And don't think for a minute that we're going to pay you for that half hour you missed."

"Oh dear, my financial future is ruined," Helga said melodramatically. Owen flew out of the house without another word.

"Thank God he's gone," Helga muttered, placing Stan in his walker. "Promise me you won't turn out like him."

Stan gurgled and drooled.

"Your mental capacities astound me, Stanley," Helga said sarcastically. In truth, she probably would have liked her nephew better if she didn't have to spend practically all of her free time baby-sitting him, even when she reminded herself that he was a blend of Owen and Olga—a scary proposition. Helga was trying to not hold that against Stan, though. Perhaps he could still be saved. "I can see you won't be much help with my algebra homework." She reached into her book bag and pulled out the worksheet, the problem that she had completed so quickly jumping out at her. "'If you believe you can do it, you can do it!'" she mocked in a high-pitched, sing-song voice. Then she snorted. "Arnold. What a load of nonsense. What an idealistic simpleton."

She stopped there, however, catching herself. Oh shitsticks. That had sounded almost exactly like how she used to refer to him in elementary school. That had sounded almost exactly like one of her preludes to her declaration of undying love for that very same idealistic simpleton. But no, that was the old Helga, who was long dead and gone.

So instead, she just snorted again, saying, "I finished that problem because I understood it. And I've just been getting crappy grades because I haven't really cared enough to try, that's all. Obviously I've always understood this junk. It wasn't some pseudo-humanistic garbage that did it, it was my own capabilities." There. That was better.

Of course, Helga had been nervous about seeing him again—not just seeing him, but actually having to interact with him. That time at the dance last year had hardly counted, she thought. She had completely purged him out of her life and no longer spent all of her days pining after him, and keeping him out of her mind had been relatively easy because he wasn't constantly around her. Out of sight, out of mind and all. But she knew that to have refused Arnold as her tutor would have just proven that she _wasn't _over him, and that she _couldn't _handle being around him. So, although she was nervous that that part of her that still thought she was in elementary school might resurface (for while that Helga was dead, sometimes that Helga seemed to _forget _she was dead), she wanted to prove to herself, once and for all, that she was a new person now, and that nobody, not even Arnold Short, could make her lose control of herself.

And that first tutoring session had gone rather well, Helga thought. In fact, although she wouldn't have anticipated this, finally explaining everything to him felt like lifting a huge burden off her shoulders.

"You know, Stan," she mused—Helga had always had a habit of talking to herself, and even though that was basically what she was doing now, Stan's presence in the room actually gave her a second party to address, regardless of his ability to actually understand her—"maybe actually seeing him and telling him the truth about everything might be the final step into actually completely moving on. Maybe now my elementary school self can finally die for good." She humphed to herself. "He's dating Melissa Hopkins? Or at least he was a few months ago? Criminy. What did he _see _in that perfect little princess? I think I just answered my own question."

Stan made a noise of confusion.

"Not that I'm jealous or anything," she snapped at Stan, as though he had accused her of something. "He can date whoever the hell he wants to. I'd have just assumed that by now he'd grown out of the 'you're nice and pretty and that means I'm crazy for you' stage. _I _sure have, anyway."

She focused her attention back on her review worksheet, filling the problems out quickly. Again, she didn't really put much effort into them, but she was finding that at least she understood them better than she had thought previously. Probably the fact that she had actually assisted her own tutor with a problem was a help in the boost of her confidence. She smirked. If this kept up, pretty soon _she'd _be tutoring _Arnold. _That would be kind of fun, actually, being a tutor. She could teach Arnold that success came from a true understanding of the material, not simply naively believing that you could do it. Although… as silly as his philosophy had sounded, it was almost refreshing to hear someone who wasn't bogged down by realism. She couldn't deny that her spirits had been lifted from talking to him. And he had complimented her clothing—sincerely. Most people either downright said it was weird, or if they _did _say it looked good, it was done sarcastically. But no, he had truthfully, honestly liked at least one part of her getup. What _was _with him and the color pink, anyway?

Helga dropped her pencil. "Why in the _hell _am I still thinking about Arnold?" she asked.

Stan giggled.

"Not funny," Helga growled. "Don't think I have any sort of feelings for him. I did once, but that was a long time ago and I'm over that now. I'm just a little flustered _because _I did once. And because he's hot. Heck, probably every girl gets a little flustered around him. What I'm feeling is nothing out of the ordinary, and it certainly isn't love or even a crush or anything like that."

Stan broke out into the full-fledged laughter of a baby.

"I'm _so glad _you find this whole thing amusing," Helga muttered. "If this is funny to you, you're going to be a total heartbreaker when you get older. Males. You all suck."

_Except for Arnold, _the elementary school Helga who was once again forgetting that she was dead piped up with emotion. _Arnold, that amazing soul; that bastion of hope and caring in this cruel, harsh world; the lighthouse to which I steer my ship in the darkest hours_—

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" she shrieked. "Would you just shut up and stay dead like you're supposed to?" She paused thoughtfully. "'The lighthouse to which I steer my ship in the darkest hours'? That's actually pretty good…" She scribbled it down on the side of her worksheet.

Stan made a gurgling sound.

"Just for general usage," Helga insisted. "I want to have it around just in case I can fit it into a story or poem sometime. One _not _about Arnold. Because I don't write about him anymore."

But even as she said that, lines and lines of over-the-top poetry were already flowing through her brain, lines about the golden-locked boy, the angel on earth, the gentle ray of hope.

"Listen," she growled, this time completely directed at herself, "I'll pound those lines out of you and into the ground with a sledgehammer if I have to. Those thoughts could _ruin _me. Do you not realize how _happy _I am now, happy because Arnold is completely out of my life?"

_But you were far happier when you loved him, and completely accepted that you did, and just let yourself get washed away in it whenever he was near. Don't you remember?_

Helga scowled and hastily turned back to her homework. When you argue with yourself you're just asking for trouble.

…

Chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, a cookie, milk. School lunches were never very creative, Arnold thought to himself. It was the next day, Thursday, fifth period, Arnold's lunch hour. Unfortunately, Gerald had lunch fourth period, but at least Lila had fifth period lunch too. He took a seat next to her at a table in the center of the room—the upperclassmen had taken all the good seats by the doors.

"Hello, Arnold," said Lila with a smile. "How have you been?" Arnold did have another class with Lila—English—but that was seventh period, so lunch was often the first time during the day that they saw each other. They usually hung out before school for a few minutes, but Arnold was in the drumline and had band practice every morning, which meant that his mornings were cut short and he really didn't get to actually talk to either Gerald or Lila until PE and lunch, respectively.

"Pretty good. Pretty tired. We played extreme dodgeball in PE."

Lila paled. She had PE next period. "Oh, dear. I've never liked dodgeball."

"Me neither, but it does keep you in shape." Arnold cut out a piece of his chicken-fried steak.

"Where were you yesterday afternoon?" Lila asked. "There's this new Monet exhibit at the museum that seems ever so interesting, so I called your house to see if you wanted to see it with me, but your grandpa said you were gone."

"Yeah, I had to peer tutor someone and then I went to the arcade with Gerald. I don't have any plans today, though, if you'd still like to go."

"I can't today. Dance practice." Lila looked at Arnold curiously. "You're a peer tutor? How long has this been going on?"

"Since yesterday."

"Well, I'm ever so certain you'll do a great job," smiled Lila. "Who are you tutoring? Or are you allowed to tell?"

Arnold paused. He wasn't sure if it _was _right to tell, but then again, he kind of wanted to relate the experience to someone other than Gerald, who had just said, "That girl's just biding her time. Mark my words, she's still planning on killing you." So he said, guardedly, "Well, actually, believe it or not, I'm tutoring Helga Pataki."

Lila's reaction wasn't as exaggerated as Arnold's or even Gerald's had been. She only gave a soft laugh. "Well, isn't that a weird coincidence. How did it go?"

"Pretty good, actually. She was actually nice to me… well, nicer than she used to be, at least."

Lila giggled. "You know she was sweet on you in elementary school."

Arnold sighed. "Yeah, I know… wait, _you _know?"

"It was pretty obvious, although of course I could only suspect. That is, until she told me."

"She _told _you?"

Lila giggled again. "She threatened to hurt me if I ever told anyone, but that was so long ago and you seem to know now anyway… How did you find out?"

"She told me, too," Arnold said, wondering just how many other people were in on her "secret". "But back to her telling you. _Why _did she? And… and why did you say it was pretty obvious? She was a total bully to me!"

Lila smiled. "Well, Arnold, when you think about how much attention she paid to you, and sometimes I'd catch her looking at you with this really soft look in her eyes, and how she kept saying how much she couldn't stand you yet she seemed to always be around you anyway… well, I can't say I was surprised when she told me that she liked you."

"But why did she tell you? I guess I was under the impression that she wanted to keep it a complete secret."

"Oh, I'm ever so certain that she wouldn't have told me if she could have avoided it," laughed Lila. "Do you remember in fourth grade, when we did Romeo and Juliet and I was going to be Juliet? Well, Helga came to my house and tried to talk me out of the part. I really wanted to be Juliet, though, and Helga didn't seem to have a good reason for wanting to be Juliet… but then I remembered that you were playing Romeo." She laughed again. "So I asked her if this had anything to do with her liking you. I was pretty nervous, actually. I thought she might hurt me. She of course said it had nothing to do with you, but I had already pretty much figured it out, so I told her that if she wanted to be Juliet because she wanted to kiss you, then I was perfectly alright with that."

Arnold laughed a bit too. "So then she told you?"

"No," grinned Lila, "then she told me that if, hypothetically, she told me that she liked you, I had to swear never to tell and that if I broke my promise she'd strangle me." Her smile faded, and she quickly looked towards the door. "She's not coming after me, is she?"

"I don't see her," laughed Arnold.

"Her fashion sense nowadays is ever so interesting," Lila mused. "I've always wondered where she finds those vests and leggings and such."

"You want to dress like that?"

"No," smiled Lila, "I'm just curious. So, you say that she told you, too? That's interesting. Did she just tell you now?"

"No, actually, it was back in fourth grade," said Arnold. "When Gerald and I were trying to save the neighborhood from FTI, we started getting calls from this anonymous deep-voiced person helping us. This person never told us who he—she—was, and so when I realized that the person was just outside on the rooftop of the FTI headquarters, I went out and cornered her. You can imagine how surprised I was when I found out it was _Helga._ I of course wanted to know why she of all people was helping me, and, well… I guess I had her cornered, just like you did."

"I bet you still had to drag it out of her," Lila said.

"Not really," Arnold recalled. "She pretty much screamed it at me, in fact. I think maybe part of her _wanted _to tell me. And not only that, she _kissed _me."

"She _kissed _you?" Lila looked surprised, but she was also grinning. "Good for her! I bet you were ever so shocked, though."

"Shocked wasn't even _half _of it. But still… you know, when she told me, as shocked as I was, I never doubted her. Because now, looking back on everything… you're right, it _was _pretty obvious. I was pretty dense."

"Well, what happened then?" Lila asked. "I mean, you've known all this time…"

"I made her take it back," sighed Arnold. "I asked her if she didn't just get caught up in the moment and didn't mean what she said, and she agreed and yelled at me that she hated me. And we were right back to how we were before. Except… we _weren't, _because I knew the truth."

"You know, Arnold," said Lila with a smile, "I think it's ever so noble of you to agree to tutor Helga after all that. I'm sure it took a lot of courage to face her again."

"I was really nervous," Arnold admitted, "but it really went well, like I said. And Helga was honest with me about the whole thing when we brought it up—of course we brought it up," he added in response to Lila's questioning look. "And I'm glad we did, because I finally feel like I have some closure with the whole deal, and I think maybe she does too. She's completely over me now, so there's no more… weirdness between us. Maybe now we can be friends."

Lila scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and washed it down with a gulp of milk before speaking again. "I think you should date her."

Arnold choked on his corn. _"What?"_

"I always thought you two got along really well when Helga wasn't trying to put up a front or anything," Lila said with a shrug. "And you could always deal with her better than anyone else, and not only that, but sometimes you seemed to actually enjoy her company despite everything. I think you two would make an ever so perfect match." She smiled at him. "Besides, even if she is over you, if she loved you once, she certainly could love you again."

"But… but the question is, does she _want _to love me again?" Arnold stammered.

"Well, gosh, Arnold, people never _want _to fall in love. It just happens."

"Well, it's not going to happen here," said Arnold. "Trust me, she' s completely over me. She said that she can think of me without any sort of longing anymore. It's not going to happen."

…

The final school bell had rung about six minutes ago but Helga still lingered at her locker, letting herself think angry thoughts about Olga, Owen, and Stan—she wasn't really _that _angry at them, but thinking these thoughts kept her mind off of Arnold. For some reason he had been on her mind all day, and it irritated her. And she was truthfully more than a little pissed off at Owen, and even though she didn't have to stay after for tutoring today, she still was in no hurry to get to his house and ensure that he got to work at a ridiculously early hour. Olga seemed to be blissfully unaware of the verbal berating that Owen gave Helga pretty much every day, whether she was late or not. Nor was Olga ever in a hurry to return home from work. She taught first grade at PS 113, and she was _always _staying hours after school helping out the children who didn't have a ride home, or stopping by the orphanage and giving them an impromptu piano concert, or running to Center for Survivors or Toys for Tots or Disabled Veterans of America or any one of the many charities she supported to help out, meaning she was rarely home before 6:30.

"You could at least _act _like you want to spend time with your own child," Helga had snapped to Olga when she had finally made it back home, just a little bit before seven.

"Oh, Helga," Olga cooed, picking up Stan and cuddling him, "there are so many others so less fortunate than us, and I know that my son is in the best care imaginable with my baby sister. Isn't it wonderful, Helga?" She was smiling, and Helga had to stop herself from smacking herself in the face—brilliant Olga had once again missed the point. "When you were a baby I took care of you, and now you're taking care of my own son. It's come full circle and I'm just so proud of you, and I know Stan's in such good hands. I hope you and Stan become as close as you and I are."

Helga rolled her eyes. "I could jump all over that utterly false belief, but that's just _too _easy. So I'll just go back to the main point that you seemed to have missed—it's the _parents _who are supposed to take care of their kids, not the sisters or… aunts…" But Helga stopped there, realizing that while her parents had never really neglected her, the few good memories she had of being cared for as a youngster, being read to or being played with, were almost always with Olga, and not Bob or Miriam. Of course Olga had been ridiculously busy with school and the ten thousand organizations she was involved with and the piano and violin and dance and acting lessons, but she always _had _been genuinely fond of Helga. To the point of annoyance, especially when Helga was older, yes. But that didn't change the fact that Olga had in fact always been caring towards her.

"Of course it's the parents who take care of their children, but you're chipping in and helping Owen and me, just as I chipped in and helped Mommy and Daddy with you. And I just think that's so _wonderful, _Helga, and you're an absolute doll for it."

"Yeah, yeah. Where's my seven bucks?" When Olga had first suggested Helga baby-sit Stan, she had seemed to think that just since Helga was family, she'd do it for free. Not so. Helga had demanded two bucks an hour, which truthfully was slave wages—even waiters made more than that. But she needed some way to pay for her hair dye, CD's, and whatever else she happened to want. The baby-sitting gig on top of working at the supermarket over the weekends meant that she had a fairly good source of income coming in—well, fairly good for a fifteen-year-old, anyway.

"Here you go," said Olga, putting a five and two ones in Helga's outstretched hand. Olga actually had been a little appalled that Helga demanded payment, but when Helga reminded her that any other baby-sitter would ask for at least minimum wage, she and Owen were more receptive to the idea. "What color are you going to dye your hair next, baby sister?" she asked with a wink.

Helga smirked. "I'm thinking blue. We're playing Waverly for homecoming next month and their school colors are blue and white, so I think it might be kind of fun to annoy the entire student body here and look like I'm rooting for the other team."

"Oh, Helga, you really ought to support your own team!"

"Where's the fun in that? Anyway, you're here now, so I'm blowing this popsicle stand." Helga picked up her book bag and headed towards the door.

"See you tomorrow!" Olga held up Stan and moved his hand up and down. "Say bye-bye to Auntie Helga, Stan!"

Helga didn't humor Olga with any sort of response to that, instead just pushing open the door. It had started to rain. Perfect. Olga and Owen lived about two miles away from Helga, which wasn't exactly far, but it certainly wasn't close, either, especially with precipitation involved.

Standing by her locker that next day, Helga glanced outside to see what the sky looked like. Clear as a bell. It had been yesterday at this time, too, Helga reminded herself. The hallway was almost completely empty by now, and she had really no real excuse for staying where she was, but she wanted to put off having to put up with Owen for as long as possible. When around Olga, Bob, and Miriam, Owen did a fair job of tolerating Helga, but when the two were alone they butted heads, Owen not bothering to pretend that Helga grated him the wrong way. Not that Helga really cared that her brother-in-law was less than fond of her; she didn't like him much, either. Although it almost hurt to admit it, Olga was definitely preferable to him.

But still, Helga felt her anger flaring up at her sister instead of her brother-in-law at that moment. She was annoying, she was smothering, she seemed to completely ignore things that didn't fit into her perfect view of the world, her achievements were completely impossible to live up to. And yet Helga had realized last night that she really had a lot to thank her for. While Arnold had given her the attention she wanted—_wait, shit, no, I'm not thinking about Arnold anymore, remember?_—Olga had given her the caretaking that she _needed. _Probably not nearly as _much _as she or any other toddler would have needed, but at least it was something. She was also paying her for babysitting, which allowed her to keep her hair dyed to the point that many people who knew her were probably completely unaware that she was a natural blonde. And Olga actually found this amusing, unlike Miriam, who was just confused by it, or Bob, who sometimes became downright angry about it, especially when Helga opted for a more unusual shade: _"Pink? Pink _hair? What the hell is wrong with you? How seriously do you expect to be taken with _pink _hair?"

Helga could even thank Olga for her wardrobe. While she did on occasion buy things from Goodwill, most of what she wore was either clothes that Olga had worn in the early nineties, or that Miriam had worn in the early seventies. Helga looked down at the sarong she was wearing, one that had probably been brightly colored when Miriam had first worn it, but now the colors were faded. Underneath the sarong, barely visible but still clearly there, were light pink legwarmers that Olga used to wear to dance class. This unlikely getup, completed by the brown button-down shirt with sleeves she had rolled up to her elbows (probably something Miriam had bought in the eighties), was certainly unmatched by anyone in school. Thank God the two of them were packrats and kept everything.

"Hi, Helga."

Helga shrieked and leapt about three feet in the air. _"Arnold! _Holy shit, don't _do _that!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," said Arnold quickly. "I was just wondering how the algebra quiz went."

Helga quickly got her breathing back to normal, although for some reason her lungs still felt a bit constricted. They hadn't felt that way before Arnold showed up. It must still be from getting scared out of her wits. "Well, how would I know? We haven't even gotten them back yet, we only took the damn quiz today. I think I did alright, though. Not good, but not bad either. So, according to your little philosophy, that means that I probably did alright—not good, but not bad."

"That's all we can really ask for," said Arnold levelly. "Improvement comes one step at a time. If you improved even a little bit, that's a victory and that's all that matters." He smiled at her. Helga gulped. Was this guy for real? "Are you waiting for someone?"

"Nah, just putting off meeting my brother-in-law for as long as possible."

"Your brother-in-law? Oh yeah, you did mention yesterday that you had a nephew… So Olga's married, then?"

"Yep. To a workaholic, hotheaded blowhard. He's just like my dad. I guess what they say about marrying your parents is true. God, if I ever married someone just like my dad, I'd shoot myself at the wedding and put myself out of my misery."

"Or you could, you know, avoid that situation by deciding to marry someone who _isn't _like your dad," Arnold pointed out.

"But then I wouldn't get to shoot myself," said Helga, raising her eyebrow playfully to show she was just joking.

"See? Another good reason not to do it. How old is your nephew?"

"He's, uh… he'll be eight months old next week. He was born January tenth."

"What's his name?"

"Stan. Stanley Pataki Trotsky, if you want his full name. Terrible name. Every single one ends in an "e" sound. But Olga was just so set on the name Stanley, and Big Bob pretty much told her that the kid's middle name had to be Pataki. He doesn't want the family name to die out and all." Helga rolled her eyes at that.

"I don't think the name's that bad," said Arnold.

"Well, 'Stan Trotsky' does have a nice ring to it, I'll admit," said Helga with a shrug. "He's an annoying little squirt, though. All he does is cry and shit his pants and drool."

"Well, he's a baby. What do you expect?"

"It gets old when I have to baby-sit him for three hours every day Monday through Friday. It should be less, but Owen has to be such a workaholic and Olga has to spend so much time after school helping out all those poor unfortunate little children that they both seem to forget that they even have a kid."

"Shouldn't you be going there?" Arnold asked.

Helga snorted. "Yes, technically, but I'm pissed at Owen for yelling at me for being late yesterday. Him getting to work at a ridiculously early hour is more important than my grades, I guess."

"Come on, Helga," said Arnold, giving her a chastising look. "If you have a duty to baby-sit your nephew, you should get there as soon as possible."

"Don't think that's going to work on me, football head," Helga snapped. "Owen deserves to have to watch over his own kid for a few extra minutes. Besides, the less time I have to spend changing Stan's stinky diapers, the better."

"Do you want me to help?"

Helga should have been expecting that from Arnold, but it still caught her completely off guard. _"What?"_

"Do you want me to go there with you and help you take care of your nephew?" Arnold asked. "I don't really have any plans for the rest of the day, and even though taking care of a baby isn't high on my list of fun things to do, if you'd like a little extra help… Besides, I'd kind of like to meet your nephew." He smiled.

_This guy can NOT be for real!_

"I think you're crazy," Helga said aloud, "but since you offered I'm not about to turn down help. Come on."

…

"Late again, why am I not… oh _Jesus. _And you brought your boyfriend this time for a little 'fun'."

"He is _not _my boyfriend," Helga snapped, flaring up more than what seemed necessary. "He's my tutor. He's just going to help me take care of Stan and, uh, help me with my homework."

Arnold took a step up towards Owen. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Trotsky," he said, extending his hand. "My name's Arnold Short, I'm Helga's tutor. She was telling me about your son and I wanted to meet him."

Owen eased a little bit and shook Arnold's hand. Helga couldn't help but marvel at Arnold's ability to calm just about anyone down. "That's it?" Owen insisted, making sure. "No funny business now?"

"We're not dating or anything like that, if that's what you mean," said Arnold politely.

Owen looked at Arnold, and then back at Helga. "Alright, I believe you," he finally said. "You don't seem like the type to date someone like Helga, anyway. But if I come back from work tonight and find the bed unmade—"

"Get your ass off to work, you perv," Helga said quickly, pushing Owen towards the door. "Get there early as possible like you seem to always want to do!" She slammed the door shut as soon as he was outside, and turned back to face Arnold, blushing. "That jerk. I'm so going to kick his ass. Maybe I'll find his condom drawer and open a bunch of them and leave the wrappers on his bed just to mess with him."

Arnold blushed too at that. "Uh, isn't that going a little far?"

"Maybe, but _he _went too far. Um. This is awkward. Let's get that kid." Helga moved into the kitchen and lifted Stan out from his high chair, bringing him back out into the living room. "Here's the little monster himself. Stan, I'd like you to meet Arnold Short. But you can call him football head."

Arnold gave a small laugh. "Training him from a young age, aren't you?"

"With people like Owen and Olga for his parents, I've got to start as young as possible, and as often as possible. Here, wanna hold him?" Helga handed Stan to Arnold before he could reply. "I think he's got a full diaper too, just for you."

Arnold gave Stan a little bounce off of his arm and smiled at him. "Hey, buddy," he said softly. "You're a pretty good-looking kid, you know that?"

"He'd be better looking with a clean diaper," smirked Helga.

Arnold held Stan out from him and towards Helga. "Well then, why don't you—"

"Why don't _you? _You're holding him. And you said you'd help. And, well, I'm going to make you help with the dirty work." Helga was still smirking.

Arnold sighed helplessly. "Where are his diapers?"

"Here's the diaper bag. You'll need the wet wipes and baby powder in there, too." Helga handed Arnold a large canvas bag.

Arnold pulled out a diaper. "Cute. They have trains on them."

"I've never understood why they decorate pants that have the sole purpose of being pooped in. I mean, what's the point? Lay Stan down on the table." Helga motioned to the kitchen, or rather the table in the kitchen. "And hope he doesn't decide he wants to pee when you're changing him. You boys and your little water pistols, I swear."

As Helga instructed, Arnold laid Stan, who was gurgling happily, down on the table, unbuttoned his onesie, and took off his diaper. There was indeed a large, messy, brown surprise waiting for him. "Yuck," Arnold said, wrinkling his nose. "What a stench."

"He's done way worse," commented Helga levelly. "Now take this wet wipe and wipe his little tushie clean."

Taking the wet wipe from Helga, Arnold asked, by way of trying to focus on something besides the unpleasant task at hand, "So how long has Olga been married to this guy?"

"Hmm, it's been… three years, I think. Yeah. Three years last July. I was her maid of honor. I was only twelve years old and I'd already been maid of honor at two different weddings." Helga laughed a little bitterly. "Not that I'm ever going to be anyone's maid of honor ever again, so it was just as well I got them over with so early."

"Where does he work?"

"Parson's. It's a clothing factory, and he works second shift on the assembly line. Not a very glamorous job, but he thinks he's the shit. He's always bragging about how important he is to the company, when the reality is they wouldn't miss him if he fell off the face of the earth. He's got Big Bob fooled, though. He goes off all the time about how hard working and industrious his son-in-law is, and of course how absolutely perfect Olga is. And he and Miriam can't get enough of Stan here, either. Which means, as usual, I'm pushed to the sidelines, although now it's even worse. Now there's _three _people in the pecking order before me, instead of just one."

Arnold had wiped Stan clean and was now applying the baby powder. "I'm sure your parents care about you as much as they care about Olga."

Helga snorted dismissively. "Bullshit. It's always been this way. I'm sure they'd rather that I never existed. Miriam's all but admitted to me that I was a whoops baby, although even if she hadn't I could have figured it out for myself… I mean, more than twelve years age difference between the two kids? Yeah, _that _was planned. And I didn't turn out perfect like their first kid happened to be, which sends Bob up the wall. And Miriam _did _once actually say to me that I'm the only reason she's still even _married _to my dad." She looked down at the floor. Why was she telling him all this, anyway? "Not that I really care, though. I've gotten along fine without their support."

Arnold was now putting a fresh diaper onto Stan, but he looked at Helga sincerely while he spoke. "Helga, you can't say that your parents don't care about you. Your dad pushes you because he wants the best for you and wants you to be the best person you can be. And if what your mom said about staying married to your dad was true, that means that she's given up her own personal happiness to give you a good upbringing. I know that they care about you. You're lucky to have them."

Helga snorted. "Lucky," she muttered. "Give me a break."

"I'm serious." Arnold's face grew softer, sadder. "You don't know how lucky you are to have parents."

Helga glanced up at him, hearing the change in his tone of voice. Arnold finished dressing Stan and picked him up, handing him back to Helga but not looking at her, instead looking at the floor just as she had earlier. She cradled Stan against her shoulder. "I take it you never found your parents, then," she said softly.

Arnold looked back up at her. "Well, actually… yes, I did find them. But it was way too late."

"I'm sorry." With her free hand Helga reached out and touched Arnold's hand. It was so gentle, so spontaneous, that the action both startled her and yet came as no surprise to her.

Arnold looked her in the eyes. Helga's lungs constricted again. She had almost forgotten what a gorgeous shade of green his eyes were.

"I found my dad's journal around the beginning of the fifth grade," said Arnold softly, still keeping eye contact with Helga. "There was a map at the very end of it, and I was sure it would take me to where my parents were. They left when I was just a baby, you know, to help the natives of San Lorenzo, and this map showed just about everything there, along with all their known settlements. I showed it to my grandparents and I pretty much begged them to take me there so I could find them. Well, they were busy, I had school to worry about, it was too expensive… they always found a reason to say no. But finally, the summer after sixth grade, I guess they got tired of me asking so they finally arranged for the three of us to go there."

"You actually went to San Lorenzo?" Helga asked, surprised.

"Went back, actually. I was born there, so even though I didn't remember it, it did almost feel like I was coming back home, despite how downright scary the whole place was. It's not exactly a very wealthy nation, so it was kind of sad to see the living conditions. I could see why my parents felt compelled to help these people, actually. But none of them knew anything about my parents. My Spanish wasn't very great and none of them knew any English, so I felt like I was getting nowhere, so I finally just followed the map. Without Grandma and Grandpa knowing." Arnold laughed a bit at himself. "It was really stupid of me. I was twelve years old, didn't know the country, didn't know the language, and was following this map, alone, to the ancestral lands of a tribe who by all accounts were territorial and mysterious. And they did capture me."

"They _captured _you?" Helga couldn't believe what she was hearing. This kind of thing only happened in movies, she thought.

"Yeah, and I honestly think they might have killed me, but I said to them, 'I'm looking for Miles and Stella Short.' I said it in both English and Spanish, although I don't think they really understood me either way. But I had their picture, and I pulled it out and gave it to them. I knew when they saw it, the way their attitudes changed, that they recognized them. They untied me and led me to their village, and there was this man there, in this dark, voodoo-like hut. I think he might have been one of the green-eyed people—the natives—but when they brought me to him and he saw me he said to me, in English, 'I believe I know who you are; the child of Miles and Stella.' I told him I was looking for them, and he said, 'I was afraid of that.' And then I knew."

"Did he tell you… what happened to them?" asked Helga softly.

"They had just finished the cure to the sleeping sickness," said Arnold, looking away from Helga. "It had taken them weeks to perfect, but they finally found the antidote to that particular strain. So they went out and started administering it to all the settlements. They had finally hit every settlement except one, which was in the deepest, most dangerous part of the jungle. This settlement I guess had enough problems fending off wild animal attacks even when they didn't have a virus to worry about. But my parents wanted to help them, too. They did make it there, and gave all the residents the antidote. But on their way back, back to their plane to come back home for good, a jaguar got them."

Helga's face paled. "Oh God."

Arnold took a deep breath, but continued in a mostly steady voice. "They fought it off, but it got them both pretty bad. Somehow my mom managed to remain conscious and drag my dad and herself back to the village, though. I guess by the time she got there my dad was already gone, although she probably didn't know it. Anyway… they did everything they could for my mom, but she really only had minutes left, the way this man told it. He wasn't there, so he got this story second hand, but I guess right before my mom died she said something in English. Of course, those natives couldn't understand English, so they never knew what she said."

"I bet it was something about you," Helga whispered.

Arnold looked back at her. "I think so, too."

"I'm so sorry." She not only touched his hand this time but also grasped it, and this time she was not in the least surprised that she felt compelled to do so.

"You know… I think I always knew," said Arnold quietly. "I mean, it was… Did you ever see the movie Annie?"

"'It's the hard knock life for us…'" Helga sang in a small voice by way of answering his question.

"Well, you know how at the end of the movie, when Annie realizes that her parents have been dead all along, when she says that she knew they were, because she knew that if they had actually been alive they would have come for her sooner? Well, that's how I felt. I guess part of me always knew they were dead, because if they were alive… if they were alive, why didn't they come back for me?" He sighed. "I did see where they were buried. Grandma and Grandpa did, too. They were crushed… I mean, as hard as it is to lose your parents, it must be even harder to lose your child."

"I can imagine," Helga murmured.

"It was hard for me and Grandpa, obviously, but it definitely hit Grandma the worst. And the thing is, even though she's never really moped around about it, she's never been the same since then. She's become… _normal. _Normal by anyone else's standards, that is."

"Which is downright bizarre for your grandma," Helga agreed.

Arnold nodded. "Since then holidays have been on the days they're supposed to be, there's been no more acting out that we're ninjas or robots or cowboys or anything like that, there's been no more rock concerts on the roof… just no more crazy games at all. She just hasn't been the same since then, so I know how much of a blow it was to her."

"I'm really, really sorry," Helga repeated. "I mean, how terrible for you. You… you deserved a happier ending to that story."

"It's alright," said Arnold softly. He managed a small smile. "But we can change the subject any time, you know."

"Okay, like what?" Helga looked down at Stan and then back up at Arnold. "Like the movie Annie? When I was in like kindergarten and first grade that was my favorite movie in the whole world."

Arnold smiled. "It does have good music."

"I used to always sing 'It's the Hard Knock Life' whenever my parents would make me do chores around the house. I used to pretend that I was an orphan and that someday, some nice family would adopt me and take me away." She paused. "Wow, _that _sounds like something a child from a functional family would say."

"I'm sure all kids have wanted at some point to have a different family," said Arnold.

"It wasn't just 'at some point'. I wanted one all the time." Helga sighed. "I'm sorry, I'll shut up now. What I went through is nothing compared to what you went through, and I'm not going to whine about it."

"Helga, there's nothing wrong about a child playing pretend. I pretended I was a different person all the time too, even though I had a really happy home and upbringing. It's just nice to wonder about what things would be like if they were different, that's all."

"I pretended all the time, though," said Helga. "Not just about that, but I'd pretend that I was older and more talented and that my parents were actually proud of me like they were of Olga. And I'd pretend that I was a famous author and that everyone read my books and poems and loved me and my work. And I'd pretend that you loved me. I pretended _that _one all the time."

Arnold felt a little awkward that Helga was bringing this up again, but still managed a smile. "I'm sure you did, going off what you've told me."

"I really got into it, too," said Helga. "I'd always have you be a broom or a pillow or something and almost always I'd get you to admit that you spent your days pining away for love of me, and then I'd always say, 'Why, Arnold, my love, I feel the same way! Take me away with you, marry me, and we'll spend the rest of our days blissfully happy with each other.' And then I'd always take you—the broom or pillow or whatever happened to be you that day—outside to the backyard and pretend you had taken me to Paris, or Venice, or Tahiti, or whatever fantasy location I fancied that day."

"If you wanted to be realistic," said Arnold, "you should have had me take you to New York City. I'd like to spend a few months there, just taking everything in. And if I were to have a romantic fantasy, that's where it would be at."

"I think I did have you take me to New York a few times," Helga admitted. "Those were the days I really wanted to see a show on Broadway. And you'd always take me to one, but I'd never really pay attention to the show because you'd spend the entire time whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and I'd always act like I hadn't heard you so that you'd have to say them to me again." She picked up the diaper bag and held it at arm's length away from her. "'What's that, my love? My eyes sparkle like diamonds in the night? You flatter me, darling, but my eyes are nothing compared to yours, my pools of happiness, the windows into your perfect soul.'"

Arnold, feeling rather embarrassed by this, looked down at the floor, where Stan was moving about in his walker. He looked up at Arnold and gave him a happy smile, his eyes sparkling. Startled, Arnold looked back up at Helga. "Stan has your eyes, you know."

Helga turned her attention away from diaper bag-Arnold back to the real Arnold. "Huh?"

"I'm serious. He has the same eyes as you. Or, if you'd prefer, he has the same 'sparkling diamonds in the night' as you do."

"He's a baby… he has baby eyes," Helga said, looking a little surprised and flustered.

"Well, they certainly sparkle, at least," said Arnold, looking back and forth between Stan's laughing eyes and Helga's shocked ones.

"Do… do _my _eyes sparkle?" Helga whispered.

They stared at each other.

Arnold opened his mouth, about to say yes… but no, her eyes didn't exactly sparkle. They did something more, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly that was. Whatever they did, it was almost impossible to turn away from them, one of the few physical traits of Helga that was still the same as when she had been a child—they were still light blue, expressive, soulful.

"Oh, shit. What are we doing?" Helga suddenly snapped. "Look, football head, I've got homework to do, so unless you want to completely take over watching the kid for me, you should probably hit the road."

"No, I mean… I mean, yeah, I'd probably better get going." Arnold quickly made his way to where he had left his book bag and slung it over his shoulders. "I'll, uh, I'll see you tomorrow after school, then."

"Yeah, yeah, get out of here," Helga snapped, motioning him towards the door, leaning down to pick up Stan to avoid looking at him. She adjusted the baby's onesie, smoothed back what little hair he had, until she finally heard the door open and close. She glanced at the door to make sure he was gone.

"Fuck," she whispered. "What the hell is happening? Why… why am I having trouble breathing? All he did was repeat what I told him I used to imagine him saying. He didn't mean it. And even if he did, what do I care? It's not like I'm still in love with him. Because I'm _not."_

Her heart was racing.


	4. Chapter 4

Helga plowed her way through school the next day, Friday, more irritable than usual.

She had burned him. She had burned everything that she had of him and thus erased him from her life. It had been a new beginning, one that she needed. It was shortly after that, just after Olga's wedding, that she had cut her hair short and ditched the bow. It was the summer of 1999, a new millennium was almost there, a new start, and Helga embraced it. It was December of that year when she had first dyed her hair. It had just been a very natural shade of brown that first time, but it was liberating. Helga felt more and more like a new person the more she physically changed herself. After the brown, she had gone for black. Then red—a very bright, hardly natural looking red. Then pink. And that was about the time she started wearing Miriam and Olga's old clothes in the most bizarre combinations she could come up with. She got attention now. And she looked nothing like the girl she had once been.

_You can change your outward appearance, but you can't change who you are inside._

The color of her hair had nothing to do with it, as well it shouldn't. She wasn't falling in love with him now and she wouldn't be if she was still blonde, either. She was a different person now, both on the outside and on the inside. She was _smarter _now. Perhaps the old Helga would completely abandon all sense and reason because she was in love, but the new Helga wasn't going to let that happen to her. She was completely through with that, she had decided a long time ago. So she certainly wasn't falling in love now. Especially not with the _same goddamned person you were in love with in the first place._

But damn, he was so hard to ignore. She was right; he hadn't changed at all. Well, yes, he had obviously grown older. But everything about him that she had once loved was still there. He was still gentle, caring, sweet, polite, intelligent, still completely and utterly _amazing. _She felt a warm glow whenever he was near her and she was finding that she had to stop herself from smiling like a fool whenever she even just thought about him. All this after less than two days together.

Not together as in "together", of course. Because they weren't together, and they weren't going to be, because she wasn't in love with him.

She hadn't gotten much sleep that night, because despite her frenzied efforts to the contrary, she had stayed up wondering what it would feel like to have him run his fingers through her hair. Purely hypothetically, of course. It's not that she actually _wanted _that. Anyway, regardless, she hadn't gotten much sleep and was now sitting in her fifth period algebra class looking completely zoned.

"Alright, class," Mr. Quincy was saying. "I've got your quizzes graded, but I know from experience that if I hand them back to you at the beginning of class all you'll just be focused on them and not the lesson, so I'll give them back to you at the end of the class period. For now, let's get back to fractions."

Helga dutifully pulled out her notebook that she had hardly used and wrote the day's date: Friday, September 6, 2002. Normally she barely took any notes in any of her classes, and certainly was far from organized with them, but focusing on note taking seemed to be a good way to get her to think about something other than Arnold. Not that she had any real reason to be thinking about Arnold, of course, which would make keeping her mind off of him easy.

_Easy, dammit, do you hear me?_

The dead Helga didn't listen, though. And by the end of the period, Helga found that her notes consisted of nearly nothing about algebra and nearly completely about jumbled lines of romantic poetry.

"Oh shit," she muttered, slamming her notebook shut defensively. Hopefully nobody saw that. Although even if they did, luckily she hadn't written down any names—which made sense, after all, because she wasn't in love with anyone and thus had no particular names to mention. Of course, there had been a few mentions of a blonde angel, an emerald-eyed darling, a football-headed wonder…

Whoever in the hell _that _was. Those were just random descriptors, not tied to any actual person. Duh.

The bell rang, and the students all began to leave as Mr. Quincy handed back the quizzes. Helga's was the last one he handed back. She looked in surprise at the grade—an 86%. A B minus. Considering she had actually failed the last quiz, this jump in grades left her completely speechless.

"That's a mighty big improvement after a single tutoring session, and I'm not one to beat around the bush, so I'll just ask you straight out—Did you cheat?"

"What?" Helga jerked involuntarily. "No, of course not! Cross my heart and hope to die! To be honest, I don't care enough about my grade to even consider cheating."

"That's what I thought, too," said Mr. Quincy. "Relax. I guess it was the tutoring, then."

"Yeah, I… I guess so. Arnold fed me some crap about believing in myself and as hokey as it sounds, I guess it worked."

"Well, I'm very pleased with your improvement, Helga, and I'm not sure if a tutor is still necessary… unless you still want one."

"Yes!" Helga yelped out instantly. Wait, she _did? _Why was that? "I mean, yeah, sure, let's raise this grade to an A." Of course. She wanted a better grade. The fact that Arnold happened to be her tutor had nothing to do with it.

"Alright then. Go ahead and meet him after school as usual."

Helga nodded, sliding the quiz in her binder and standing out of her desk unsteadily. How on earth had that just happened? She had moved from an F to a B minus, a whole twenty-four percentage points, just because Arnold had suddenly returned in her life. Oh, and given her motivational bullshit and crap like that. It wasn't him, it was what he said. He liked the way she dressed.

_No, not THAT thing he said!_

She got out of the room as quickly as possible. Her next period was lunch and she was hungry—not terribly hungry, but she still focused all her attentions on her stomach, rather than her heart.

…

Arnold also spent that day trying to avoid the subject of Helga, but not to the counterproductive extremes that she had. Instead, when conversing with Gerald during PE and psychology and Lila during lunch and English, he just made sure that the topics brought up didn't center around his tutoring. He was successful, too; the only time Helga was brought up was at the very end of psychology, eighth period, when Gerald asked, "So are you tutoring Beelzebub again today?"

"Beelze… oh, Helga. Yeah, I am."

"Sorry."

"Gerald, she's really not that bad. I actually kind of enjoy spending time with her."

"I always knew you were a masochistic freak of nature." Gerald shot Arnold a good-natured grin to show he was joking.

"I must be," said Arnold with a helpless sigh. "I helped her take care of her baby nephew yesterday."

"Good lord, Arnold. Why are you always helping people?"

"Because they need it."

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, good Samaritan, can you take a break from the do-gooder thing for a day or so and come over to my place tomorrow? I've got a ton of new video games that need trial runs, and I can't do it by myself."

"Oh, sure you can," laughed Arnold. "But I'd love to. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you, Arnold." They quickly did their thumb "handshake" and parted ways.

Arnold was glad to get to algebra, his last class of the day, of the week in fact. Of course, he still had to stay after and tutor Helga, but that didn't seem so bad. As long as they could avoid looking in each other's eyes like they had yesterday. Arnold felt himself blush just thinking about it. What had _that _been about? Okay, yes, so Helga was going on about how she used to be in love with him, which definitely explained _her _reaction. Getting completely worked up in your own emotions, even if they were past emotions, could certainly make you become a little dreamy-eyed. But what about what _he _felt? He couldn't ignore the flutter in his stomach when he had looked in her eyes.

Lila thought he should date her.

Part of him was honest-to-goodness thinking in response to that, _Why not? _He liked her, and there was obviously some level of attraction that he felt for her… but that was the problem. Arnold wasn't one to rush into an infatuation. And he knew that the reason for that attraction probably came solely from the fact that he knew that she had once loved him. There was certainly something very attractive about someone who loved you—after all, being loved was a wonderful feeling. But Arnold wasn't sure if his attraction stemmed from anything other than that. And besides, even if it did, he highly doubted that Helga still had any interest in dating him.

Besides, he was _tutoring _her. To date her at the same time would be just _awkward._

He couldn't help but smile to himself as he sat down in his desk. How weird was it that it _didn't _feel weird to think about Helga in this way? After all, this was the girl who had tormented him all throughout elementary school. At that time—well, at least before a certain time on the rooftop of a company headquarters in the fourth grade—the possibility of his ever feeling any kind of attraction towards Helga would have been laughable. And even now, her harassment still felt like a bit of a road block. A small one, yes, but still a road block. When he thought of Helga, even now, he couldn't help but remember how she used to treat him. He had long since forgiven her, even before she ever admitted she was in love with him. He had always known that she at least had a deeper, kinder side to her, and after all, Arnold was not one to hold grudges. He had forgiven her, yes. But _forgetting _was another matter.

And there was no way in hell he could ever forget her.

He was realizing even more now, now that he was actually interacting with her again, that probably a big part of the reason why his relationships with Wendy and Melissa hadn't worked was because he was holding them up to the impossibly high expectations Helga had set. He had always known that Helga's declarations of love (because he had actually heard two separate ones from her, although one was given in a very indirect manner) and kisses (again, more than one—six in fact, if he was counting correctly) had deeply affected him, even the first ones where he had believed she was just acting. But he was only now coming to the conclusion that when Wendy kissed him, when Melissa kissed him, neither had done so with even half of the passion Helga had had, and he had inwardly been disappointed. And Melissa's very unremarkable statement that she was in love with him? How could he possibly believe that after how Helga had confessed to him over five years ago?

Helga had set the standard, Arnold realized, and he'd never even dated her. He was comparing his girlfriends to the girl who had been his constant bully and thorn in his side. But she had also been his first kiss, and the girl who had taught him what love was.

That had been right after their performance of Romeo and Juliet, when Helga had stated that she thought it was a stupid play because the protagonists were promoting that true love meant killing yourself for a person you had only just met, throwing your life and common sense out the window. She then went on to state how _she _would write a romance play… and of course directed her "hypothetical" dialogue directly to Arnold. Now Arnold realized that the framework of writing a play was just that, a framework in order for her to confess to him, at least indirectly, how much she loved him.

There were very few things that he could remember word for word, but strangely Helga's first, roundabout confession was one of them, despite having only heard it once. And when he had been with Wendy and Melissa, he had silently hoped, prayed, that they would say those words too: _"I love you… if there's only one single solitary truth in this entire miserable world it's that, you have to believe that… I light up with happiness every time I see you… I don't know what I'd do without you… I don't know how I'd be able to go on… But I do know that I somehow would go on, for your sake… I couldn't just end my existence and ignore everything you ever taught me… I love you too much to do that…"_

He waited for Wendy, for Melissa, for _anyone _to say something like that… but no one ever did.

But that was the kind of love he wanted.

And Helga had once had it, and was practically begging for Arnold to take it. But he never did.

"I wish…" Arnold murmured aloud.

"You wish what?" Melissa asked. She had stepped into the classroom right after him.

"I, uh, wish that the day could just be over already," Arnold quickly said. In some ways it was a cover for what he really wished, but he also didn't know _what _it was that he really wished.

"Me too," sighed Melissa. "I heard we get our quizzes back today."

"Oh… that's good," murmured Arnold, hardly listening.

Melissa rolled her eyes impatiently and made her way to her desk, apparently deciding that attempting to hold a conversation with him wasn't worth the effort.

_Don't talk when you don't know what you're going to say, _Arnold mentally chided himself. This was actually something that he followed more often than not, since he was not particularly gifted with words and knew it. He always made an effort to take care in everything that he said. And did. And felt. He rarely did anything on impulse.

Right now, though, he didn't know if his feelings were merely impulses or something more, and they were growing harder and harder to ignore.

…

Helga could have stood to adopt Arnold's philosophy of thinking before she spoke. Sometimes she did blurt out things she didn't mean, or if she did mean them, she certainly knew that they were better left unsaid.

But there were also many, many times in her past where she had in fact put a lot of thought into what she said, and even thought it might have _seemed _she was just blurting something out without thinking, the truth was that she had known exactly what she was doing.

The day Arnold got thrown into the dumpster in the fifth grade had been one of those days.

She was never _not _going to help him. Luckily at first there had been no one to witness her good deed, but even if there had been she would have hastily constructed some excuse as to why she was helping Arnold, even if said excuse was as flimsy as, "Well, come on, he got tossed into a dumpster, and even _I'm _not heartless enough to just leave him there."

She was only going to pull him out and be on her merry way. Nothing more. It would be her one good deed for the day.

But she froze when she touched his hand.

The wave of love for him that swept through her entire body whenever she thought of him, while certainly intense, was _nothing _compared to when she actually physically touched him. It was literally as though she forgot how to move. And Arnold had looked up at her, his eyes glowing with understanding—well duh he understood, she had out and out _told_ him a few months ago—and yet not recoiling. He just waited, patiently, gently, wanting to know what she would do, even if it was violent… even if it was passionate… because now he knew she was capable of both.

"Arnold—" That, yes, had been said without much thought, but she wouldn't have taken it back. She loved the way his name felt on her lips when she spoke it, especially in that tone of voice, and he had never quite heard that before. And she wanted him to hear it. She wanted the sound of her saying his name to make his knees buckle just as the sound of her hearing him say _her _name made _hers. _But it didn't stand on its own, and instead of buckling he still waited for something more, and Helga knew what she needed to say.

But she never said it.

Which was why, after ninth period, instead of going to the tutoring room, she sprinted to the hall where Arnold's locker was, waiting behind the corner for him to finish with his books. He didn't take very long, very soon on his way towards the library, and Helga, when she was sure he was gone, discreetly ambled down the hallway and, before better judgment could interfere, slipped a folded up sheet of paper through the vents of his locker.

Oooooohhhhh shit.

Why did she do that?

Well, no going back now. That slip of paper wasn't going anywhere now. The locker was locked. Besides, Arnold probably wouldn't know who left it. And he probably wouldn't understand the message, anyway. But that didn't matter. She was finally, although five years late, saying it, and maybe now, _finally, _the elementary school-age Helga would get some closure and die for good.

There was still a number of students in the hallways, chatting at their lockers with friends, and the individual voices all blurred together into one indistinguishable mull. And yet, somehow, Helga suddenly recognized a single voice that she hadn't heard in years.

"See you tomorrow, Jenny."

Helga turned around and stared at the source of the voice, who returned the surprised stare for a moment, clearly not expecting to see Helga there.

"Hi, Phoebe," Helga finally said, smiling.

The way Helga had treated Arnold wasn't the only thing that had haunted her to the point of a total change that summer between sixth and seventh grade. She had also realized how much crap she had put Phoebe through. Long-suffering Phoebe, so different from Helga and yet Helga's only true friend, who knew all of her personal demons and bore them with her, uncomplaining, completely trustworthy, even with Helga's deepest secret (a secret that went by the name of Arnold). And yet Helga had completely taken her for granted. Part of her always meant to at least apologize in junior high, but she had started hanging out with different friends and, suddenly, she realized that Phoebe wasn't a part of her life anymore. At the time, she had considered this a good thing—Phoebe was part of the old, dead Helga's life and had no place in the new Helga's life—but she couldn't ignore the simple fact that her new "friends" were total losers, and she wouldn't trust them with even a quarter of her secrets. Not the way she had trusted Phoebe.

"Hi, Helga," Phoebe answered, also smiling a little bit. "I like your vest."

Today Helga was wearing a red and white checkered vest over an orange tank top, along with a black satin sash tied around her waist and light blue leggings. Helga's smile grew broader. "Thanks. I like your sweater."

Phoebe was dressed far more conservatively than Helga, simply wearing a gray sweater and jeans, but she still appreciated the compliment. "Thanks."

"Listen, Phoebe, I've been thinking about something," said Helga. "I owe you an apology. You were pretty much my only friend in elementary school and I totally took you for granted. And then I completely ignored you in junior high. Basically, I was an ass to you, and I shouldn't have been."

"Well… I didn't exactly do my part in trying to keep our friendship together either," Phoebe admitted. "So I'm sorry, too."

"Don't give me that. You have nothing to be sorry for. Besides, there's something else." Helga took a deep breath. "Basically, I've realized that all of my friends now are morons and jerks, whereas you are decidedly neither. And maybe it would be good for me to go back to hanging out with you for a change. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is… do you want to see a movie or something tonight?"

Phoebe's face fell. "Actually, Helga, today's my dad's birthday and we're going to celebrate tonight…"

"Oh. That's okay. I understand." Helga turned away, realizing how stupid of an action this was. Duh. Of course Phoebe wasn't suddenly going to want to hang out with her, after being ignored for three years.

"But I'm free tomorrow night," Phoebe suddenly said, smiling.

"Really?" Helga asked, surprised.

"Yeah. In fact, I've really been wanting to see 'Night of the Half-Living Zombies V', but Jenny isn't really into monster movies…"

"Well, you know I am. I've actually seen it twice, but it's definitely worth seeing a third time. So… you wanna meet me at the theater at seven or so? I usually get off work at six, so I can make the earlier show."

"Sounds great," smiled Phoebe.

"Perfect. Look, I've gotta go get tutored now, but I'll see you tomorrow night, alright?"

"Alright, see you tomorrow. Oh, and Helga… I forgive you." Phoebe smiled warmly.

"I forgive you too," smiled Helga. "In fact, I was never angry at you."

"Me neither," said Phoebe.

…

The tutoring session that day was decidedly quieter than the last one. Helga had shown Arnold her grade and gloated about it for awhile, and then they worked on fractions, which Helga did genuinely have a little trouble with. They spoke of little else, Helga throwing her all into the homework, attempting to avoid looking at Arnold because every time she did her heart rate suddenly picked up. And it was already racing enough from just hearing him talk. _Remember, you're dead, _she thought bitterly to her old self, threatening to distract her from her work by swooning and sighing and squealing.

"We talked more about dividing fractions today, even though not all of it was on the quiz. Do you have your notes from today?" Arnold asked.

"Yeah, I—" WAIT HE CAN'T SEE THESE NOTES! "No! No, wait, we can't use my notes, I—I take terrible notes." _That _was an understatement. Her "notes" weren't notes at all, just lines of poetry. She quickly glanced at the clock. "Besides, I'd probably better go. Owen's probably already steamed that I'm not there yet. We, uh, we can talk more about dividing fractions on Monday." She hurriedly began gathering her books into her book bag.

"Okay," said Arnold agreeably. "I think you're getting this pretty well anyway. So… got any plans this weekend?"

"Work tomorrow. I'm going to see a movie with Phoebe. Sunday's my veg day. I never make plans, I just sit around and watch TV all day." She swung her book bag over her back, wanting desperately to leave before he had the chance to ask her to do something with him over the weekend and yet hoping that he'd try anyway.

"Sounds like fun. Everybody needs an off day." Arnold smiled at her and put his book away too. "Well, see you Monday. Have a good weekend."

"Uh, yeah, you too," Helga stammered, feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time. She quickly left the room, not wanting to give herself any more time to have to fight the urge to gaze into his eyes.

Arnold raised an eyebrow as she left. She was acting kind of odd, he noted, although it was probably because she still felt awkward over yesterday. Truthfully, he did too, and didn't want to try to bring that up again… well, part of him did. He sighed. Why did Lila have to plant the bug in his brain about possibly dating her? Why did Helga have to have once loved him in the first place? It couldn't work out, he knew; Helga didn't want to date him, and probably wouldn't even if she _did _still love him. She had told him that she wasn't in love with him, and she wouldn't suddenly decide she wanted to date him after that… she was too stubborn to admit that she was wrong, he knew. Besides, he was her _tutor. _If anything were to ever happen between them, it would have to be when that hierarchy was gone.

At any rate, she had said in a very definite manner that she was over him, and he had no real reason to doubt her. They way she was acting around him could definitely be explained as awkwardness from once having been in love with him, rather than actually _still _being in love with him.

He made his way to his locker, the school eerily quiet, to pick up his biology book and put away his algebra book. He had gotten most of his algebra homework done while tutoring Helga, and for biology they actually had a book assignment for the weekend. He groaned before he had even opened his locker, thinking about the heavy biology book on his back. Groaning wasn't going to get his homework done, though. With a sigh, he opened his locker and replaced his algebra book with his biology book, and moved to close the door—

Wait. There was a folded piece of paper on the floor of his locker.

Curious, he leaned down and picked it up, unfolding it slowly. It looked like a note of some kind—maybe a secret message? Maybe a long explanation for something?

But when he opened the note, there were only five words on it.

"_I'll make it all better."_


	5. Chapter 5

Luckily Stan had been a sufficient distraction for Helga for the couple of hours that she baby-sat him. He screamed like a banshee whenever she attempted to place him in his walker, preferring instead to crawl and even attempt to stand on his own. He was able to move at the rate of about three feet a minute… far slower than he could zip around in his walker, but the kid seemed to be too stubborn to accept the help of the walker anymore. _He's just like his dad, _Helga thought helplessly. And, she reminded herself, he was one hundred percent Pataki too.

Stan's insistence on moving on his own forced Helga to turn her entire attention to him to make sure he didn't crawl into anything he wasn't supposed to, thus allowing her to focus on something other than Arnold for a few blessed hours. She was almost disappointed when Olga returned and relieved Helga of her duties.

She still couldn't _believe _she had left that note in his locker.

Oh well. It wasn't a big deal. He wouldn't know it was from her, and even if he did, he wouldn't understand it. Besides, today was Friday. By Monday, when she saw him again, he'd already have forgotten about it.

But she didn't want him to. She wanted him to understand. Why _else _would she have bothered slipping that note into his locker in the first place?

To shut up the part of her that still thought she was ten years old, _that's _why. _Now _she could finally rest in piece and let the new Helga get on with her life. Her life that had no place nor desire for Arnold.

She pushed open the front door to her house, smelling dinner already cooked.

"Hi, honey," Miriam called from the living room. "I did wait awhile for you to get back, but even by the time I finished cooking supper you still weren't back yet…"

"As usual, Olga's doing, not mine," muttered Helga, dropping off her book bag in the hallway.

"Well, there's some pot roast sitting on the counter."

Helga found it and poked it. Cold. Of course. Just when had Miriam started cooking dinner, anyway? Four o'clock? She sighed, scooped it onto a plate, and went to take it to the microwave—

"Hold it right there, missy!"

Helga rolled her eyes at her father's interjection. "No, Bob, I'm hungry and whatever it is you have to tell me, it isn't as important as my supper."

"It certainly is!" Helga was surprised to find when she turned around to face Bob that he, while still being forceful as usual, was actually grinning. "You've got a busy day ahead of you tomorrow, a day that will change your life!"

"Excuse me?"

"Big investors are coming to the headquarters tomorrow. They could make Big Bob's Beepers and Electronics go _national! _And—"

"Dad, that's great and all, but can I eat my pot roast now?" Helga snapped.

"Of course! Get your strength up, tomorrow's going to be a long day for you!"

"What do I have to do with any of this?" Helga asked in irritated confusion.

"What do you have to do with any of this? You're going to be there, Helga! It's about time you started learning the ropes!"

"Dad, I _work _tomorrow! And I already made plans with a friend for after work!"

"Call in sick and ditch the friend, this is far more important."

"I can't do that! Why do you even want me there, anyway?"

"Because! This is a great learning opportunity for you, and you're going to be inheriting the company, and there's no better time to start your training!"

"Look. I hate to burst your… wait. _I'm _going to be inheriting the company?" Helga's confusion and surprise had finally overridden her annoyance.

"Who do you think I'd give it to, one of the part-time salesmen?" Bob demanded. "You bet your booty I ain't! The only person I can trust with it is a Pataki, and that's you!"

"But… but what about… Olga? Or Owen?" Helga stammered.

"Come on, they've already got their careers set in place! Besides, this is your realm, not theirs."

"But you're always going on about how perfect they are!"

"For God's sake. They're perfect at what _they _do. But this is what _you _do!"

"Who… who said you could just plan my life _for _me?" Helga tried to make her voice sound harsh and forceful here, but the truth of the matter was that her bewilderment that her father actually thought _she _was the ideal candidate to take over the family company rather than Olga was getting in the way of her anger. He had nevereven hinted that he thought Helga was even equal to, let alone exceeded, Olga in _anything._ But now the most important thing in his life he was ready to entrust to _her?_

"You're taking this whether you like it or not. I'm not going to let you screw up the rest of your life and ignore the chance of a lifetime. A life of ease is at your fingertips! I worked my fingers to the bone for _thirty years _to get that company to where it is today, and the least you can do is show your appreciation for everything I've done for you and accept what I'm giving you!"

Helga pressed her hand to her forehead, pushing away her pot roast with the other. Suddenly she wasn't hungry anymore. "Fine, fine, I'll go tomorrow, but just to scope it out and see if it's what I like. I'm not committing to anything. And I'll take a sick day off from work, but don't even _think _I'm going to ditch Phoebe for this. At 6:30, I'm outta there."

"Oh, you'll commit alright," said Bob confidently. "And for God's sake, wear something decent, will ya? At least your hair looks halfway professional."

"You know, Dad," said Helga sweetly and sarcastically, "I was going to wait until next week to dye my hair blue, but I think maybe I'll dye it tonight, just for you."

"You do and you're grounded," Bob muttered, sitting down and turning his attention to the evening paper.

Helga grabbed her book bag and retreated upstairs to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her as soon as she entered. She dropped the book bag unceremoniously on the floor. "Fuck," she whispered, pressing her hands against her face hopelessly. Why was everything spinning out of her control? She was angry, furious actually, because she didn't know _what _to feel about this new development. Should she be genuinely angry because her dad seemed to assume that she'd like whatever life plan for her he mapped out? Or should she be happy and even honored that her dad seemed to have complete confidence in her ability to take over the company? Helga had to admit that her dad's job did sound like something she could do, and could do well. In fact, it could be something she might even enjoy. But, regardless of all that, how dare he just make this decision for her? It was _her _life! Shouldn't _she _have a say in how it went?

She honestly didn't know how she felt about this. She didn't know how she felt about Arnold—actually, part of her feared that she knew _exactly _how she felt about Arnold, and what she wasn't sure about was whether she wanted that or not.

No! Shit! She didn't want that at _all! _She didn't need Arnold, she didn't need Big Bob's Beepers and Electronics (for alliteration's sake, Beepers was still in the name, but the store nowadays mostly sold cell phones, PDA's, and even those new MP3 players), and she certainly wasn't going to let them get thrust into her lap without her say. Not matter how much she wanted them.

"No, I don't want them, I _don't," _Helga muttered angrily. "I don't want my dad's stupid company. And I sure as hell don't want some stupid football head. I can get on just fine without either of them. I don't want them. I _don't."_

How many friggin' times would she have to stay that to herself before it finally sunk in?

…

Arnold, as he often did on nice nights, did his biology homework on the roof of the boarding house. It wasn't due until Monday, but he liked to get it out of the way and free up his weekend as soon as possible. Sometimes, though, it was probably a better idea to stay in his room, because the sounds of the city around him and watching the sunset could be just as big a distraction as his stereo and books.

But, he reminded himself, the sooner he got this done, the more time he had to watch the city go by. That was always a soothing exercise for him, and just the perfect way to unwind after homework. He reached into his book bag for a pencil, but he found the note from his locker first.

Pulling it out and reading it again, Arnold bit his lip in puzzlement. What on earth did it mean? He was reasonably certain it was from Helga, but _why _she had left him the note, _what _it meant, why she didn't just tell him to his _face _and eliminate any confusion, that he had absolutely no clue of.

"'I'll make it all better'," he muttered to himself, turning the note over in his hands, looking fruitlessly for anything else. Make _what _all better? What was Helga trying to tell him?

Now, hold on. It wasn't really fair of him to pin this on Helga when he had no real proof that she had written it. He couldn't imagine who _else _would have written it, but life had ways of surprising him. Like Helga being in love with him in the first place. It looked like her handwriting, though. It was hard to be sure, of course—he was only really familiar with what her numbers looked like rather than her letters, but the handwriting still seemed familiar—

Wait a minute. There _was _a way to prove this was from Helga. Still holding the note, Arnold climbed down into his bedroom and started pawing through the books in the back of his bookshelf. He hadn't looked at or even thought much about this particular book in years, but if the handwriting from this book matched the note… aha! There it was. The little pink book.

Of course, again, Arnold didn't have complete concrete evidence that this book of love poems about him, which somehow ended up in his possession the first week of fourth grade, were penned by Helga, either. But it seemed reasonable to assume that they were. Besides, if they weren't, that meant that there had been _two _girls pining away for him in elementary school and writing poetry about him, and that was something he didn't want to think about. Wasn't one enough?

He opened the book to the first page, reading the very first poem in the volume:

_To Arnold, my love:  
Each line from my pen that meets this page  
I dedicate to you, my sage  
And pray that you will someday know  
How deep my feelings for you go._

Arnold felt his ears redden with a twinge of guilt. Helga had told him a few days ago that she had burned all of her books of poetry that she had written about him, but one had managed to escape her purge, and he of all people had it. If she even realized that this book still existed, she would probably want to burn it as well, and certainly wouldn't want him to read it.

_But the very first page says that the book's dedicated to me, _Arnold reasoned with himself, _so I have every right to read it. Besides, I've had this thing for six years now. If she had really wanted it back, she would have asked me for it… or stole it, or something._

With that in mind, he placed the note from his locker next to the poem.

Yep. Unmistakably the same handwriting. It had gotten a little smaller and more refined during the years, but both of these were definitely written by the same person. And that person was Helga G. Pataki.

He leaned against the wall, sighing to himself. Okay, now what? Was Helga trying to tell him she was still in love with him? Or that she was going to burst into his room, steal the book, and burn it like she had burned everything else—and maybe actually burn him for good measure this time, too? Was she simply saying that she was going to improve her algebra grade?

There was a knock on the door, and Arnold's grandfather, Phil, peeked his head in. "Hey there, Shortman. Homework giving you trouble?"

"No, a _girl's _giving me trouble," Arnold sighed.

Phil laughed. "Well, can't help ya there! I can't even understand your algebra homework, and females are far more confusing than algebra."

"If one was in love with me, she'd out and tell me straight… right?"

"Hard to say. Females like to make things as difficult as they possibly can. And, of course, that's assuming that she even _knows _she's in love with you. They like to make their own feelings impossible to understand, too, even to themselves, much less any innocent bystander. What's the worry? You in love with her?"

"No—I mean—I don't know. I don't think I am. But I do like her, and I don't want to hurt her feelings either way."

"There's nothing you can do. No matter what happens, she's going to get spurned, and she's going to say it's all your fault. You can just kiss her goodbye right now, Arnold, it's curtains for this relationship."

Arnold sighed helplessly. "Thanks, Grandpa."

"Don't mention it. Eighty-six years of life experience has got to count for something," Phil said proudly. "Anyway, just wanted to tell you that you might want to avoid the bathroom for a few hours or so—your grandma's bean burritos moved through my body at lightning speed and left their calling card—"

Arnold wrinkled his nose. "Uh, thanks, Grandpa. Duly noted."

"Good luck with the girl, although I think you'll have more of a chance becoming the class valedictorian of algebra," Phil chuckled as he left the room.

Arnold looked back at the little pink book and the mysterious note, feeling a seed of worry settle in his stomach. "Yeah, me too," he said softly.

…

Helga was used to getting stupefied stares from people whenever she went out in public, but running into the movie theater at exactly 6:55 PM Saturday evening, breathlessly paying for her ticket, the only even mildly surprised stare she got was from Phoebe.

"I know," Helga said by way of explanation for her brown business dress suit and respectable shoes that actually matched the outfit. "Big Bob insisted that I meet some investors at the store with him today and he would not let me leave to get changed. I hardly even escaped when I did. Trust me, I don't make a habit of going out in public dressed like this… Anyway, let's go in and get a seat, I don't need any popcorn."

"It's okay, Helga, breathe," said Phoebe. "The movie doesn't start until 7:20 anyway."

"_What?" _screeched Helga. "I ran out of the store and nearly _killed _myself flagging down a taxi because I thought I didn't have time to change and I actually had _twenty-five friggin' minutes?"_

"Calm down," said Phoebe quickly. "It's no big deal. You look nice. I was just a little surprised that you were even dressed like this in the first place. Why did your dad want you to talk to the investors?"

"He wants me to take over the company for him when he retires," Helga said in as nonchalant of a voice as possible, handing her ticket to the usher and heading to theater number five, Phoebe close behind her.

"Really? That's wonderful, Helga!"

"I suppose."

"You'll make a great businesswoman."

"I don't know. Look, I want to escape from all this, okay? I've had beepers and cell phones on my mind all day now, and I want a break. Can we change the subject?"

"Of course. Changing," said Phoebe. She and Helga took their seats near the back of the theater, which was mostly empty. "So, um… are you still dating Marcus Rowe?"

Helga snorted. "Nice subject change."

Phoebe shrugged. "Sorry. Couldn't think of anything else."

"How did you know about that, anyway?" Helga asked suspiciously. "I haven't talked to you in years. Does the whole school follow my love life or something?"

"Well, he kind of stands out, and you kind of stand out… you were both hard to ignore, I guess. I haven't seen you two together for awhile, though…"

"With good reason. We broke up in January."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He was getting on my nerves. He always did, actually…" Helga sighed at herself. "I mean, I liked him, he was cute and all, but I never really… liked him in the way you're supposed to like a boyfriend. Anyway, what about you? Have you been dating anyone?"

Phoebe shook her head. "Nope. I'm too busy with other things, really, plus I just haven't really met anyone I want to date. My grades are more important to me right now than finding a boyfriend."

"Come on," laughed Helga, "school can't take up _that _much of your time."

"Well, when you add in orchestra, speech team, quiz bowl, math club, and fencing lessons, plus spending time with friends and reading books, watching TV, and other things just for fun… no, I really don't have time to date right now." Phoebe smiled.

"You _are _a busy bee," said Helga. "By the way, how did your dad's birthday gig go last night?"

"It was nice. We went out to eat, just my parents and I, but it was still nice for the three of us to all be together at the same time. They're just as busy as me, so we're all pretty much in and out of the house all the time."

"I hear ya," said Helga. "I mean, I'm not involved in any school activities, but I'm hardly ever at home either. I baby-sit my nephew every day after school and I work at Super Saver on Saturdays. That is, the Saturdays my dad doesn't suddenly decide to drag me to the Beeper Emporium over which I shall one day rule." The sarcasm had crept back into her voice.

"It really does seem like a good job for you—" Phoebe began.

"That's _just _what Big Bob's saying," Helga snapped. "And hell, maybe he's right. Maybe you're right. Maybe it _is _the job for me. But how can I say that to his face? How can I… just let him decide my life for me and be okay with it? Even if it is something I'd like to do, I feel like actually doing it would be like, like giving in. And I _refuse _to give in."

"But…" Phoebe seemed to be carefully selecting her words, as she often had done in the past when conversing with Helga. "But what if giving in will make you happier?"

"I don't know," Helga snapped. "I'd feel like it was a cheap happiness. Although lord knows… lord knows I'm not happy resisting." She looked at Phoebe, her voice losing some—but not all—of its edge. "It seems like I do everything I do just to piss them off, because it's the only way they'll actually acknowledge my existence. The hair and the clothes were partly to piss them off, although… well, I had my own reasons, too. If I'm honest with myself Marcus was one hundred percent a piss-off ploy. 'Ooh, look at me, I'm dating the bad boy!' And his parents were equally appalled at him dating me, their darling little boy dating the girl with crazy hair. He was just dating me to rebel too. That's why I broke up with him. I mean, I thought to myself, 'Why am I dating someone just to show off how much I don't need other people? If I really don't need anyone else then I don't need a boyfriend either.' Especially an annoying ass like him."

"I always did kind of wonder why you were dating him in the first place," Phoebe admitted. "I mean, he was so different from… um…" She stopped herself, looking mortified that she had actually almost said it.

"Um," Helga said with a bitter laugh, knowing _exactly _who she was talking about. "Yes, he's completely different from Um. Maybe that's _why _I wanted to date him. To prove that I really had moved on. But I broke up with him. Marcus, I mean. So it didn't work out then, either." Helga sighed. "I think I'm done with dating. Done with the whole romance thing in general. I should just accept that I'll spend my life being bitter and lonely. All the great writers were, anyway, and I do kind of fancy becoming a Poet Laureate…"

"Oh, Helga, you're only fifteen years old. You can't write off any chance of happiness yet. You're still young."

"Yes, I'm still young. I have my whole life of misery ahead of me." She gave another short, bitter laugh, this time looking straight ahead at the screen instead of Phoebe. "I told you I was getting tutored, right? Guess who my tutor is."

"Um…" Phoebe said, at first from true lack of guesses, but slowly her eyes began to widen with realization from saying that one little utterance.

"Yes. That's right. Um. And—oh, for fuck's sake, we're not ten years old anymore, Feebs. We can refer to him by name now." She turned around and looked Phoebe directly in the eyes. "Arnold Short is my tutor."

"Well, um… I mean… how is that working out?" Phoebe finally asked.

"Well, it's…" These first two words were said with confidence, but with Phoebe there beside her, Helga's resolve finally began to crumble. "Oh, _shit, _Phoebe," she murmured helplessly, pressing her hands against her forehead and slouching over in her chair.

Phoebe said nothing to this, instead merely touching Helga's arm comfortingly. Helga looked up at her and saw that her expression was that of comfort and concern.

"That boy is such a piece of work," Helga said to her, her voice quavering from angry to hopeless despair and back again. "I mean, how can he be that _amazing? _How can he still be the exact same wonderful, magnificent, amazing person he was in elementary school? I burned everything I had of him three years ago. I told myself I was through with him, through with being that _obsessed _over him—or anyone. I swore I'd never let that happen to me again. So I _can't _be feeling this way for the _same goddamned person! _But he has to be… _him! _All I do is look at him and remember everything about him that I loved, that I was so obsessed over, and _why _I was! But I don't _want _that! Why can't he just stay completely out of my life and let me live my bitter and miserable life alone and in piece?"

There was silence for a moment or two.

"Dammit," Helga muttered, her energy seeming to be completely spent. "I'm sorry I put you through that."

"That's okay… I think you needed to say it," Phoebe said.

"That's for sure," Helga sighed helplessly. "It's just… it's just this, and now the whole beeper thing, have been on my mind and I just… can't think straight anymore."

"You know, Helga…" Phoebe drummed her fingers and looked at them nervously before continuing. "I said maybe you'd be happier if you just accepted the whole taking over the company thing, because it would be good for you… maybe Arnold's the same?"

"_No!" _Helga snapped, causing Phoebe to actually recoil in her seat. "I'm not letting that happen to me again, remember? I'm not in love with him. I _burned _him out of my life. I'm not in love with him and I'm not going to let myself _be _in love with him ever again, do you hear me?"

Phoebe gulped.

Helga turned away from her, glaring at the screen, silent but inwardly screaming and kicking herself. Great, Helga, just great. All you managed to do there is completely push Phoebe away, after just the second day of reconnecting with her. _Fuck._

"You… you don't _have _to live a miserable life, you know," Phoebe said softly. "You have the option to accept something better."

"The movie's starting," Helga muttered as the lights went down. Neither of them said anything throughout the rest of the movie.

But Helga did a lot of thinking. There was no way she couldn't, actually, given the circumstances. Her method of winding down had turned out to just anger and frustrate her more, and what's worse, now Phoebe probably wanted nothing to do with her again. But still, during the two hours of zombies and amputations and hacking and gore and guts, Helga somehow managed to calm herself.

And when the movie ended and they left the theater, she said to Phoebe, in a soft, controlled voice, "Phoebe… I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"It's okay," said Phoebe.

They looked at each other and smiled.

It was very comforting, Helga remembered, to have a friend who didn't need words to understand things.


	6. Chapter 6

Arnold had marching band practice every morning, and would until marching season was over, but usually the band got let out of practice in enough time to be able to converse with friends in the hallways at least a few minutes before the first bell rang. Gerald and Lila had gotten in the habit of waiting by the band room for him every morning, and when Arnold got back from putting his cymbals away, there they were, Gerald looking a bit exasperated at whatever Lila was saying.

"…and he's ever so interesting, and quite unique… Do you think I have a chance?"

"Go for it, Lila," Gerald said, trying to roll his eyes as discreetly as possible. "It's not like there are ladies lined up and down the block for him."

"Who?" Arnold asked.

"Hubert Rudgren," Lila said with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Arnold made a face of confusion and disgust before better judgment could stop himself. Hubert constantly had a finger either in his ear or up his nose, and seemed to always smell of weeks-old fish.

"She wants to ask him to homecoming and worries that it might be too 'forward' for a girl to ask a boy," Gerald said to Arnold, smiling at his obvious discomfort from just hearing the name. "I told her that I, personally, wouldn't think it's at all in bad taste for a girl to ask a boy. How about you, Arnold?"

"Uh, no… I mean, if you really want to take him to the dance… you should let him know," Arnold stammered, smiling politely.

"Yes, that's what I was thinking too," Lila said. "I certainly hope that he isn't already spoken for…"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," Gerald muttered. Arnold coughed to hide his smile.

A pair of slowly-moving students were suddenly pushed aside, seemingly from the mere force of the voice that shouted, "Can we walk _any _slower? Really, I'd like to know." Arnold, Gerald, and Lila looked at the source of the voice—it was Helga, in a less than stellar mood. They stared at her, taking in her outfit for the day, as most people often did around her. She was wearing a bright yellow rain jacket, even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and over it a black leather belt and a necktie with a green and black diamond pattern on it. To complete the getup, she was also wearing her hot pink and bright purple vertically-striped leggings, along with hiking boots. Her outfit was almost even more stare-worthy than usual today.

Helga, however, wasn't looking at them, and consequently plowed right into Arnold. _"Jeez!" _she shrieked upon seeing him. "Watch where you're going, football head!" And with that she was off again.

"Helga, wait!" Arnold shouted. He hadn't been expecting to see her there, but she—and her note—had been on his mind constantly since last Friday, and trying to decipher the note was driving him mad. The sooner he heard from her mouth what it meant, the better.

"What on _earth _do you want to talk to her for?" Gerald demanded.

"I, uh… I just wanted to ask her about her algebra homework. You know, if she had any problems with it. I am her tutor, after all."

Lila looked at Arnold for a moment, then back down the hallway where Helga had blazed off. "I still think you should date her."

Gerald choked. On nothing other than his own saliva, but he still managed an impressive gagging sound. _"Arnold? _Date _Helga?"_

Arnold shot Lila a warning glance. "Lila, you just saw how she treated me. She clearly has no desire to date me."

"I suppose you're right," shrugged Lila. She looked back at Arnold and grinned. "She is making that rather obvious… just like she used to in elementary school."

Arnold stared.

The bell rang.

"See you guys later," Lila said, running down the hallway.

"_You? _Dating _Helga?" _Gerald still looked as though someone had told him his parents had died in a freak accident. "Where did she even come up with that idea?"

Arnold said nothing to that. He didn't want to lie to Gerald, but he still felt that he couldn't tell him the truth, either.

"Although, I guess it _is _Lila we're talking about," Gerald added. "She gets some crazy ideas into that head of hers. Like asking Hubert Rudgren out. Seriously, what's wrong with the water at her house?"

"You can never explain attraction," Arnold said softly.

"I'll also never be able to explain to Mrs. Peterson why I'm late for class," Gerald said, looking at the clock. "See you next period, Arnold."

"Yep. See you later." They did their "handshake" and parted ways.

Arnold headed down the far hallway to his first period class, US history, feeling an uneasy tingle run throughout his body. Lila was right. Helga had treated him just then exactly like how she used to treat him in elementary school—that is, like total crap. Treatment which Helga herself had explained as being merely a cover for being in love with him.

Was that the case now, too?

…

After school that day, as had been the case on Friday, Helga made her way to the hallway where Arnold's locker was rather than to the tutoring room. But today, she meant to intercept him, not remain hidden from him. And today she wasn't planning on going to the tutoring room afterwards. Hence why she wanted to intercept Arnold before he got there—to tell him he had no need to show up anymore. She was done with being tutored—and this wasn't entirely her choice, either. Owen had put his foot down when she arrived at his house at three minutes to four on Friday—no more staying after school for anything. No exceptions. She had raised her grade, anyway, so what was the point?

He was still at his locker when she got there, thankfully. "Hey, Arnold!" she shouted.

Arnold turned in surprise. "Hey, Helga. What is it?"

"Don't bother going to the tutoring room," said Helga abruptly. "I'm done with it. Owen drew the line—I can't stay after school anymore for any reason."

"That's not right," said Arnold in astonishment. "Your grades are important, and he shouldn't stand in the way of them."

"Look, I got an ultimatum. I need to be at the Trotsky abode _before _the final bell rings if at all possible. And if I don't, he'll tell Big Bob, and then Big Bob will know that I failed a math test and…" Well, actually, that wouldn't be so bad. Maybe then he wouldn't be so gung-ho about handing over the company to her. But wait, that was a good thing! No it wasn't! Yes it was! No it wasn't! Yes—

"Besides," she added quickly, "I've improved a lot anyway. I'm not failing the class anymore. I don't need a tutor."

"Helga," said Arnold, "you told me yourself on Friday that you still wanted to be tutored because you wanted to improve your grade to an A."

"Did I say that?" asked Helga innocently. "I must have been just caught up in the excitement of my good grade. Really, I'm fine with mediocrity. Average is great. If I don't aim high I won't be disappointed when I fail." She gulped. Okay, that was maybe a little _too _much. "Besides, _Arnoldo, _I already told you I don't have a choice. From now on, after school I have to be at Owen and Olga's house. No ifs, ands, or buts."

Arnold thought for a moment. "I could tutor you there, then."

"_What?" _Helga's head swam. _He wasn't supposed to say that!_

"I know how important your grade is to you… even though you're denying it now," Arnold added. "And it's really no trouble of me to tutor you at your sister's house. Actually, it would be kind of fun. I did like taking care of Stan."

"Listen, football head," Helga snapped, "I don't need your help to take care of my nephew, alright? Get your little do-gooder football-headed self out of here and stop insinuating that I'm some helpless, unintelligent little moron who needs your help with babies and algebra and—and _everything!"_

"That's not what I meant," said Arnold. "I know you don't need my help. If anything, I need _your _help in taking care of babies—and maybe algebra too, with how much you've improved. I'm only offering because I thought you might like someone to keep you company. We can help each other."

_Fuck you._

"Fine," Helga sighed, looking up at the ceiling. Oh God. Alone in the house with Arnold. Again. _Keep a hold of yourself, Helga old girl! _Why on earth was this boy so hard to get rid of? Even burning him hadn't seemed to have done the trick. The football head who wouldn't die.

They walked out of the building and headed west, where Olga and Owen's house was. Helga surged on ahead of Arnold, walking fast and looking down at her feet.

"Hey, Helga…" Arnold quickly caught up to her anyway. Helga inwardly sighed. Can't this boy take a hint? _But thank God he can't! _"I need to, uh, ask you something."

"Ask away, football head." She didn't look up at him.

Hesitation. Then: "What did you mean by that note you left me?"

"What note?" Helga snapped, glaring at him.

The glare didn't faze Arnold. "Don't do that, Helga. I know you wrote it. The one that said, 'I'll make it all better'. What did you mean by that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Helga! I know it was you! Who else could have written it?"

"Your secret admirer."

Arnold snorted incredulously. "My secret admirer. I thought _you_ had that position filled—"

"I did _once, _but not anymore!" Helga shrieked. "Why don't you _get _that?" She quickened her pace and focused her attention back down at her feet, but she could hear that Arnold was still right next to her. "When we were in the fifth grade and those sixth graders threw you in the dumpster, I went to help you and I was about to tell you something, but then I got interrupted. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," Arnold said, confused.

"That's what I was going to say," Helga said.

"You were going to say… that you would make it all better?"

"That's right."

"Oh." Arnold fell silent, more contemplative. "Then why did you—"

"Leave you the note now, five years after the fact? I was taking care of unfinished business. It was unfinished business that had been bugging me all this time, and now that I've finally told you what I wanted to tell you, I can put it behind me and move on."

"Oh," Arnold said again. And again, he hesitated a bit before speaking up again. "So will you?"

"Will I what?" Helga asked, making the mistake of looking back at him directly in those gorgeous green eyes of his.

"Make it all better?" He almost smiled with those words, playfully. Helga felt something inside of her die—but it was a wonderful, amazing death.

"I already _have," _she snapped, at herself as much as at him. "When I burned you."

The almost-smile disappeared for a moment, but suddenly it returned into a full-grade one. "You know, Helga, you don't scare me."

"I'm not trying," said Helga. "If I wanted to scare you, trust me, I'd make every hair on your ridiculous head stand up for _months. _That would be good for you, _Short. _Add a few inches to your height."

Arnold sighed, but laughed good-naturedly at the same time. "Oh wow, as if I hadn't heard that one before."

"How tall are you, anyway?" Helga asked, raising her eyebrow. She still had to look down a bit to look him in the eyes—yet she still always seemed to manage that anyway without even trying—those beautiful emerald magnets—

"I'm five foot five," sighed Arnold. "It's not… _that _short."

"It is for a boy."

"I'm only fifteen. I'll grow some more… I think."

"Arnold, I was your height when I was _eleven."_

"Well, you're just really tall. That's not a fair comparison."

"I'm five foot nine. That's _not _'really tall'."

"It is for a girl," said Arnold with a grin.

"No, really tall for a girl is like six foot five."

"That's really tall for a boy, too."

"I'm slightly taller than average," said Helga, with all the force as if she were a member of the debate team and she and Arnold were deadlocked for first place. "I'll grant you that. I think the average female is… well, about your height. But I'm still not a giraffe or anything like that. There are lots of girls who are taller than me. Have you seen Rhonda Lloyd lately? She's got to be six feet."

"That's really tall!"

"Yes! And I'm _shorter _than that!"

Arnold just laughed. "Whatever, Helga. I just know that you've always looked down on me."

"Arnold," said Helga with complete sincerity, "I have _never _looked down on you."

They looked at each other silently, Arnold's head tiled up, Helga's head tilted down, her breath short and her heart racing. _Dammit, Helga, think before you talk! THINK BEFORE YOU TALK!_

"I mean, how could I _ever _look down at the guru of algebra?" She smiled sarcastically.

Arnold smiled too, an almost yielding smile. "You manage." They continued walking down the sidewalk, but at a much slower pace. "So… did you have a good weekend?"

Helga groaned. "Please don't ask me about my weekend, Arnold, unless you want me to crumble into a million tiny pieces."

"Oh? What's wrong?" He gave her that concerned, sensitive gaze that was capable of starting the inner crumbling prematurely.

"Nothing," she snapped, looking away. "Really, I don't want to talk about it. How was _your _weekend?"

"It was fine," shrugged Arnold. "I played video games with Gerald, went to the museum with Lila—"

"Lila," Helga snorted. "I can't believe you still flock to her. I bet it was 'ever so interesting'."

"Lila's one of my best friends, Helga," Arnold said defensively. He suddenly felt himself smile in realization, glad that Helga wasn't looking at him. "I don't have a crush on her anymore, either."

"I should hope not. I mean, not like I care who you get crushes on or anything," Helga added hurriedly. "It's just that you were pretty pathetic. Not as pathetic as _me," _she added thoughtfully, "but still pathetic. You still _are, _actually. Wendy Mancuso is not much of an upgrade."

Arnold sighed. "I broke up with Wendy, like, a year ago. She was passive-aggressively controlling."

"Your fault for dating her in the first place."

"It was Lila's idea."

"So tell me what happened at that dance last year. I saw her leaning against the wall and told her something to the effect of 'yeah, my guy ditched me too', and she got all defensive saying how her boyfriend had just gone to the bathroom and would be right back—yeah, that's what my guy had said too, half an hour ago—and she told me her boyfriend was the nicest guy in the world and I told her all men were scum and that he ditched her and finally I just brought her outside to prove it. I was right." She gave a thoughtful sound from the back of her throat. "Although, if I had known beforehand that _you _were her boyfriend, I would have been singing a different tune."

"No you wouldn't have," said Arnold levelly. "You just said you told her all men are scum."

"But you, you're like…" Helga's stomach was fluttering and she was feeling a little dizzy—_oh crap, now I've got to find a way to compliment him without complimenting him, I'm getting mushy again_—_no wait, for God's sake, I FEEL NOTHING ROMANTIC ABOUT HIM IN ANY WAY WHATSOEVER! So just SAY IT, because it's just a COMPLIMENT, nothing more, he won't interpret it any other way because I'M NOT HIDING ANYTHING FROM HIM!_ "You're the top of the line scum. Or bottom of the line scum, if you want to look at it that way. You're the tolerable scum. You're the scum that's almost acceptable, that you can almost actually be around and not gag at or get annoyed with."

Arnold smiled incredulously. "That almost sounded like a compliment. Thanks, Helga."

"Yeah, don't get used to it, football head, I'm in an unusually praising mood today," Helga muttered. _Okay, stomach and heart and lungs, get back to normal, _she commanded her body.

But how could they? She had only scratched the surface! Arnold wasn't scum. He was as far from scum as anyone could be. He was perfect, an angel on earth. Everyone else was scum, yes, compared to him. No one else deserved to be on the same planet as him, lest of all a fuck-up like _her, _the girl with crazy hair and crazy clothes to hide how much she can't stand herself—

_SHUT UP!_

SMACK! Helga slapped herself in the face to snap herself out of it.

"Helga?" Arnold asked worriedly.

"I, uh, just realized that I forgot… the book I was reading. I left it in my locker. Really good book. Fantastic book. But I didn't have time to finish it during study hall so I was going to take it home with me and find out how it ended, but I forgot it. Dammit!"

"Well, there's always tomorrow. What book was it? I'd like to read it."

"Uh—" _Now _Helga was in deep water. "It was, uh, a biography. On, uh, the inventor of the… the tube sock. Very boring, actually."

"You just said it was fantastic," said Arnold suspiciously.

"I mean that _you'd _think it's boring. But me, I love that boring stuff. The duller, the better. Well, here we are!" For the first time she could remember, Helga was actually relieved to be at the Trotskys' house. At least Stan would distract them from talking and making Helga say and do really stupid things _that she didn't even mean because I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH HIM ANYMORE, REMEMBER?_

"And you want to know… how it will end." Arnold smirked. "Not to spoil the ending, but biographies tend to end in the death of the person being written about."

"Don't give me your sass, football head," snapped Helga, opening the door. "I know that. I want to know _how _he dies."

"I'm glad to see you here _almost _on time for once," Owen muttered. He then saw Arnold. "Oh, for God's sake. You again?"

"Look, he's insistent on tutoring me, and since you won't let me stay after school…" Helga shrugged. "He followed me home. Like a puppy."

"This is ridiculous. Look," Owen said, this time to Arnold, "you'd better just be tutoring her in math or science or whatever it is you're tutoring her in, and not in _other _matters, if you know what I mean…"

"Owen, you sick bastard!" Helga yelped. Arnold winced uncomfortably.

"Not like I care about what you two do for fun, but not in _my _house or in _my _bed, do you hear?"

"_GET OUT!" _shrieked Helga, pushing him out the door and slamming it behind him. Then, leaning up against the wall, she let out a half sigh, half moan that sounded suspiciously like it came directly from a steamy love scene from a movie. "Oh, Arnold, darling, he's gone!" she moaned, loudly, pressing her face against the door. "Take me to bed and _ravish _me, you Valentino!"

The door swung open again. Owen glared at Helga, who responded with a sly smirk.

"Psych. Now go to work, you pervert, you're going to be late."

Owen scowled at her. "Tell Olga to not pay you today." The door slammed.

"In your dreams, jackass," Helga muttered at the closed door. She turned around and saw that Arnold was still standing in the living room, his jaw hanging open in shock.

"What? So I've seen my share of romantic movies and I can mimic them. This shouldn't surprise you… Valentino." She snorted. "Stan, where are you?" She made her way to the kitchen.

"Could you… please… next time you're trying to get back at him, leave _me _out of it?" Arnold finally said.

"You kidding? Next time I'm going to start ravishing you on the couch before he even leaves the house. Come on, darling, hop to it. Get on that couch and take off your pants, lover boy."

Arnold continued to stare.

"I'm _kidding." _Helga picked up Stan, who sitting in his high chair, and wiped off the drool on his chin.

"I can never tell with you anymore," Arnold sighed, sitting down on the couch.

"For future reference, any time I call you 'darling' I'm kidding," Helga said, walking out into the living room with Stan and moving to place him in his walker. Stan wailed and flung out his arms and legs. "Look, buddy," she said, "you're going in your walker whether you like it or not. I need to get tutored, not watch you and make sure you don't get into anything you're not supposed to." She managed to get him in the walker, but Stan still screamed in protest.

"We can't get much done with a crying baby in the room," Arnold yelled to be heard over the noise.

"Well, what can I do about it?" Helga yelled back. "He's just a stubborn cuss. He'll get over it eventually."

Arnold picked up Stan out of his walker and sat him on his lap. Stan immediately quieted down a bit. "I can tutor you with him on my lap," said Arnold.

"What are you tutoring me in, parenting prep? The second part of the 'other' tutoring Owen talked about?"

"Lovemaking, lesson one: Setting the mood," Arnold said in a smooth, low voice.

It was Helga's turn to stare incredulously.

Arnold sighed and smiled. "I'm _kidding, _Helga."

"Of—of course you are," Helga said shakily. Her whole _body _was rattling now. _Damn, Arnold, you grew up well, _she marveled to herself.

Not like she still wanted him or anything. It was just an observation.

Really.

_REALLY!_

"So what would you like me to help you with today?" Arnold asked.

_Everything, you magnificent boy you. _"I dunno… um, maybe I'll just do the worksheet on my own and when I'm done you can look over my answers and help me with anything I had trouble on. Okay?"

"Sounds good," said Arnold. "I can take care of Stan while you work, so you don't have to worry about him."

"Peachy. Thanks." Helga pulled out her worksheet and turned all of her attention to it, writing her name at the top. Damn, she hadn't realized just _how much _she was shaking. Her name looked like it had been written by a four-year-old.

_Okay, Helga, it's time to straighten this out once and for all, _she told herself, unsuccessfully attempting to complete her worksheet at the same time. _Your nerves being on fire and your whole body shaking and that warm glow that goes through you every time you look at him are NOT love. Well, okay, so they are_—_but they're from your eleven-year-old self who still THINKS you're in love with him, but you're not. So you are NOT going to let this carry you away, no matter what he does or says. And on the other hand, you are NOT going to be a jerk to him, because you have nothing to hide. You are going to be civil, polite, friendly, but NOT a bitch, and NOT lovey-dovey. Because that's the old Helga, and the old Helga is dead and gone. And nothing he can say or do will bring her back._

Unbeknownst to Helga, Arnold was doing some soul-searching of his own.

The whole walk to the Trotskys', along with the weirdness that had occurred inside the house, confused Arnold, and yet his whole body was on edge, almost wanting _more _of it. He still didn't quite know how he felt for Helga, but he did know two things for sure: one, he liked her; two, he was attracted to her. There was really no other explanation for the feeling he got when she looked him in the eyes. True, he got frustrated with her when she was being difficult, but if the walk here had proven anything, it was that after just a few minutes of talking, he could steer her out of those moods and make her pleasant to be around again. And he liked being around her when she was like that. He liked it a lot. In fact, he found himself wanting to spend more time with her out of the context of just tutoring her.

And she didn't really need a tutor. She probably never had. She understood the material very well; what she had needed was just a desire to actually try her best, which now she seemed to have. There was little else he could do to help her in that regard. That took care of the tutor problem.

But what about what Helga wanted? He still felt he had no real reason to doubt that Helga was over him… and yet, those pauses in conversation when they stopped and looked each other in the eyes… he felt _something _between them, and he felt she must feel it too. Regardless of what she once felt for him, what she felt now… couldn't they just start over with a clean slate and… try something more?

He really wanted to. Which, in a way, surprised him—because she was so different from Melissa. So different from Wendy. And so different from Ruth and Lila and all the other girls he'd ever had crushes on. She looked different, she acted different, she talked different… she was just completely, one hundred percent _different. _And maybe that was what mattered. Maybe _that_ was whyhe wanted to pursue something more with Helga—because regardless of what happened, the results were guaranteed to be different from the last times.

Stan made a move for a stuffed animal on the floor, and Arnold set him down and sat down next to him, contemplating how he was going to approach the subject… and wincing at every possible outcome.

_She's going to kill me._

If she really was still in love with him, she was going to kill him. If she really was over him, she was going to kill him twice. It was like what his grandpa had said—this was a lose-lose situation. And yet he was still going to try it, somehow. Some masochistic freak inside of him wasn't going to let this just rest.

"Okay, I'm finished." Helga quickly handed Arnold her worksheet and sat down next to him to play with Stan, focusing all of her attention on the baby.

Arnold looked over the worksheet, finding, not to his surprise, that she had completed every one flawlessly. Well, this was as good a start to what he was going to say to her as any. "Helga… you don't need me."

"What?" Helga asked in surprise. "I—I mean, of course I don't."

"You understand this perfectly. You always have. You just needed to want to make the effort, and now that you are, you're succeeding with flying colors. There's nothing more I can do for you as your tutor, and I don't want to be your tutor anymore."

"I bet you've been wanting to say that since you first started tutoring me," Helga snorted bitterly. "You don't want to spend any more time with me than absolutely necessary."

"That's not true. That's the complete opposite of the truth."

Helga's expression morphed into surprise and confusion.

"Just… just talking with you, these past few days, has been… Well, I mean, Gerald keeps saying how sorry he is for me that I'm tutoring you, and I keep telling him, he shouldn't be, that it's not that bad, it's… it's _nice _actually, I _enjoy _being with you, just being with you and not having to talk about fractions and stuff… I've really enjoyed spending time with you, Helga, and I don't want that to end."

Helga continued to stare, unblinking.

"I don't want to be your tutor anymore, not just because I don't think you need a tutor anymore, but also because I just want to be able to be with you without using algebra as an excuse. I want to be friends with you. I want…" He gulped. Oh boy, here it goes. "Are… are you planning on going to homecoming?"

Helga's throat had completely dried out, so it took her a good five seconds to choke out her answer. "I'm… not sure…"

"Well… if you want to go, I was wondering… would you… want to go with me? As… as my date, I mean." Arnold was so nervous that his question had come out barely above a whisper. He still managed to maintain eye contact with her, amazed at how long it had been since she had blinked.

The silence swallowed up the room.

It was broken by the most inappropriate noise—Stan, enjoying playing with his stuffed penguin, crying out happily, "Eeeeeeaaaaaaaaayyyyy!"

Helga barked out a harsh, broken laugh. "Ha! Ha! Very funny, Arnold."

"Helga, I'm serious!" Arnold insisted.

"What a cute prank to play on me!" said Helga, still keeping a forced, angry smile. "Let's lead Helga on like a little lovesick loon and get her hopes up just to crush them! Well, need I remind you _again_, football head—_I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU ANYMORE!"_

"I would never do that! You know I wouldn't!" Arnold cried. "And… and even if you don't love me anymore, can't we just start off with a clean slate, and—"

"This isn't funny." Helga's smile was completely gone, replaced with an angry scowl. "This isn't funny at all. Sorry to burst your bubble, but the joke fell flat."

"It's not a joke!"

"_BULLSHIT!" _Helga screeched. _"LIAR! _How could someone like _you _ever… ever want someone like _me? _I'm no Melissa, or Wendy, or Gracie, or Summer, or Lila, or Maria, or Ms. Felter, or Ruth, or Stacy, or Mackenzie, or Katie, or… or any of those other sweet little things you've ever fancied!"

Arnold stared at her in shock. Not only had she listed Melissa, who he had never even mentioned to Helga, she had also named off a few crushes that he _himself _had forgotten about.

"Yeah, I see through your ruse, asshole! Now get out! I'm glad that you don't want to tutor me anymore, because I sure as hell don't want you tutoring me! I never want to see you again—_EVER!"_

The force of Helga's yell made Stan burst into tears.

"Helga, _please_—"

"Get _OUT! _You bastard, get _OUT! _And if I ever see your football face again I'll rearrange it six times over, understand?"

Arnold stood up, grabbed his book bag, and flung it over his shoulders. "I guess I was wrong about you being nice," he muttered harshly.

"You sure were, idiot-boy! That's what you get for that sickening naïve optimism of yours!"

Arnold made his way to the front door, turning around to face Helga. "You were in love with me once!" he shouted to be heard over Stan's screaming. "I know you aren't anymore, but… but can't you just _remember _that you once were and… and _act _like it?"

"_GET OUT!"_

"You've never acted like you ever once loved me! Maybe that was just a lie." SLAM. He was gone.

"Lie _this, _you piece of shit!" Helga screeched, throwing her (very large) algebra book at the door. Luckily she didn't splinter the door, but it did give a very loud, very ominous sounding thud.

Stan was still wailing, and his tears plus Arnold's absence suddenly registered in Helga's mind, making her finally break down.

"_Fuuuuuuuck…" _The word came out as a part moan, part wail, part helpless sob. She buried her face in her hands, shaking with sobs. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck! _How could I… what the fuck was I _thinking?_ Oh, Arnold!" She could hardly talk through her tears. "I… I'm sorry, Arnold…" She jumped up off the ground and frantically ran to the door, nearly tripping on her algebra book. "Arnold!" she cried, opening the door and looking back and forth on the sidewalk. He was nowhere to be seen. _"Arnold!" _she yelled louder, her voice breaking.

Nothing.

She crumpled in the doorway, sobbing into her palms again. "What have I _done?" _she moaned.

Her crying subsided a bit, but Stan's didn't.

The baby. Take care of the baby.

Helga scooted over to where Stan was crying and picked him up, trying to cradle him but instead suddenly crying against him as he cried against her. _"I'm sorry," _she whispered—to Stan, to Arnold, to her very much alive ten-year-old self.

She looked up, staring out the open door. _"What have I done?" _she repeated in anguish.


	7. Chapter 7

"Oohhh, Arnold… what's wrong?"

Arnold looked at Lila, sitting down next to him at lunch the next day, in surprise. "Huh? Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason, except for the fact that you look ever so miserable," Lila said with concern.

"I didn't realize it was that obvious," Arnold muttered, staring back at his lunch tray. Actually, he would have thought that he would have sulked out all of his misery by now. He had certainly looked completely crushed when he had arrived back at the boarding house yesterday afternoon, sniffling back tears and shaking with both anger and rejection.

"What's wrong, Arnold?" his grandmother, Gertie, had asked him. She and Phil were sitting at the kitchen table.

Arnold wiped his eyes and nose before answering. "You… you know that girl trouble I was telling you about, Grandpa?"

"Oh no!" Phil yelped. "Don't tell me you actually_ asked her out!_ I told you that there was no hope for that relationship, remember?"

"I'll listen next time," Arnold muttered, still wiping his eyes even though that didn't seem to stop the tears from coming.

"Is there anything we can do to make you feel better?" Gertie asked.

"No, I just want to be alone for awhile…"

"I'll tell you what," said Gertie with a smile. "I'll bake cookies for desert tonight. That ought to put a smile back on your face."

Arnold made a loud sniff before speaking. "Molasses cookies?"

"What else?"

He managed a tiny smile. "Thanks."

And they had helped. A little. But apparently not enough to hide his sorrow from Lila.

"So what happened?" Lila asked. "Are you going to be alright?"

Arnold sighed. "Lila, you'd think I'd have learned by now to not listen to you when you say I should date someone…"

"Oh… oh dear." Lila looked down at her feet in embarrassment. "So she said no then?"

"_No? _She called me a liar, and other worse things I won't repeat, and she said she never wanted to see me again! And when I closed the door, I swear she threw a book at me!"

"Oh dear," Lila murmured again.

"So I say to you, again, it's quite obvious that she has no desire to date me at all," Arnold muttered. He lifted his fork and picked at his spaghetti.

Lila picked up her fork, too, but made no further movements with it, as if in deep thought. "No, it's not," she said softly.

"What?"

"Arnold, forgive me for saying so, but does her reaction make any sense coming from someone who's truly over you like you say she says she is?"

"Of—of course—but…" Arnold shook his head in confusion. "Look, Lila, if she _wasn't _over me and was still in love with me, her reaction wouldn't make sense either! I mean, if she was still in love with me, she would have accepted right away!"

"If she knew she was," Lila agreed. "And if she accepted that she was. Perhaps she's just scared of being happy."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm just saying I don't think you should give up on her," said Lila with a shrug. "And I think that she needs, at the very least, a friend right now. And you are a very good friend."

"Good for throwing books at," Arnold muttered.

"You caught her off-guard, Arnold. And she gets angry when people do that. And she gets _really _angry when someone says something that might expose her feelings. Especially her feelings about you. Trust me, I know from experience."

Arnold looked at Lila, not knowing what to say to that.

"Just… don't jump to conclusions," Lila said. "I still think that if she was truly over you, she would have turned you down in a much less defensive way."

"And if she was really in love with me, she wouldn't have yelled at me that she never wanted to see me again."

"Oh, I don't know… that's what she always said to you in the past, isn't it? Maybe that's just her way of showing love."

"It's _not," _said Arnold forcefully. Lila looked surprised by his intensity. "I know how she loves, Lila. I have a book of love poems that she wrote about me—don't ask me how I got it, even I'm not really sure—and she can be really tender and gentle sometimes and… and I like that side of her. And maybe… maybe I could even _love _that side of her." He turned back to his spaghetti, looking vulnerable and hurt.

"Then you just have to patient with her and give her another chance," Lila said gently. "She's not going to show you that side right away, after all."

"Why can't she, though? Why does she have to make things difficult?"

"Because that's who she is, Arnold. If you want to try to love her, you're going to have to love _all _of her, not just one side of her. Can you do that?"

"I… I don't know," Arnold admitted, looking down at his feet. "But I want to try."

"That's all you need," smiled Lila.

…

Arnold was not quite as miserable the rest of the day, but he certainly wasn't feeling happy or even all that optimistic either. What he was feeling was just plain confusion. He now had even less of an idea of how Helga felt about him, or how he felt about her. And he certainly was at a loss as to what to do next.

Darn his friends for being able to read his emotions so well.

When their psychology teacher, Mr. Perry, told the class to break up into pairs to work on personality assessments, Gerald immediately pushed his desk next to Arnold, and immediately after that launched into his own assessment. "For crying out loud, Arnold, you're _still _mopey? What's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Nuh-uh. That's what you said in PE, and clearly keeping quiet about it doesn't work. Come on, man, I'm your best friend. You can tell me anything."

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you," Arnold mumbled, turning his head away from Gerald.

"Alright, and now you _cannot _not tell me after that kind of lead-in. Try me. What's the matter?"

Part of Arnold still didn't feel alright with blabbing Helga's secret, but another part didn't really care anymore, and at any rate was tired of keeping things hidden from his best friend. "Let's just say I took Lila's advice."

"Regarding…?"

"Helga. Asking her out."

"Are you _crazy?" _Gerald yelped. "Or are you conducting a scientific experiment or… or what?"

"It's not like that, Gerald," Arnold sighed. "I know you think I'm crazy, but I really do like her. A lot. And I asked her out and she pretty much exploded in my face and… she really hurt my feelings."

"Well, really, Arnold, I'm sorry and all, but honestly, what did you expect? That girl can't stand you on a _good _day! And she's always been like that!"

Arnold sighed again. "Gerald, she was madly in love with me in elementary school."

"Come again?" Gerald asked. "I could have sworn you just said that Helga was in love with you."

"That's exactly what I said."

"Wait a minute. You're saying that Helga G. Pataki, the girl who used to have blonde pigtails but now has a black bob, and who apparently gets dressed in the dark, is in _love _with you?"

"Was. In elementary school."

"Are you sure you're talking about the same Helga that I am?"

"Positive."

"You're as crazy as Lila. She hated your _guts _back then! What makes you so sure she loved you, anyway? Did Lila tell you?"

"No, Helga told me."

Gerald sighed and shook his head. "Well, jeez, Arnold, there's your problem right there. Helga never really loved you. She just told you to mess with you, so that she could hurt you again. She's playing you for a sap and having a good laugh over it right now. You can't believe what she tells you! She needed some way to torture you after three years of nothing, and that lie was it!"

"Gerald," said Arnold sternly, "she told me in the _fourth grade."_

"What?" Gerald asked, his confidence and handle on the conversation completely derailed. "But that was… that was six years ago!"

"Five and a half, actually," sighed Arnold. "She was Deep Voice. I caught her and demanded to know why she was helping me, and eventually she admitted that she did it because she loved me. I'm really sorry for keeping this a secret from you, but… well, it was Helga's secret, not mine. I wouldn't have felt right breaching her trust. I still don't, actually."

"Come on, Arnold!" cried Gerald, looking far more flustered than he had earlier but still trying to rationalize. "She wasn't telling the truth then, either! She was hiding her real reason, because… because it was too embarrassing or something!"

"Gerald, what could _possibly _be more embarrassing than admitting you're in love with—and kissing—someone you've made it a point to _hate? _She was telling me the truth, Gerald. I know she was. Do you remember that book of love poems about me we found at the beginning of fourth grade? She wrote them. Remember how much she wanted to be Juliet in our play? It was because I was Romeo and she wanted to kiss me. Remember… look, just so many weird things Helga did can be explained by realizing she was in love with me and trying to hide it. I know it sounds bizarre, and it does to me too, but she loved me, Gerald. I _know _she did."

"But… but…" Gerald gave a sigh of resignation and leaned back in his desk. "Man, I feel like I've just entered the Twilight Zone or something."

"You're telling _me," _Arnold groaned.

"Okay, so… so she loved you. But the real question is, does she _still _love you?"

"I don't know, and that's the trouble," Arnold said helplessly. "So she yelled at me and called me names and said she never wanted to see me again. That's how she treated me in elementary school, too, as a cover-up for her true feelings. Is that the case now? Or does she just genuinely hate my guts?"

"_That _is the million-dollar question," Gerald agreed.

"How are you boys doing?" Mr. Perry was going around to all the pairs of students, checking their progress. He raised an eyebrow at their empty sheets. "This is no time for socializing. Get to work."

Both boys grabbed their worksheets and pencils. "Gerald, do you generally prefer to work alone or in groups?"

"In groups. You?"

"In groups." They both marked down the answers.

Gerald looked at the next question and smirked. "This is a doozy. Do you believe people are generally good with a bit of bad, or generally bad with a bit of good?"

"Generally good with a bit of bad."

"What a surprise." Gerald circled Arnold's response and said, nonchalantly, "When did it happen? Yesterday at the tutoring session?"

"Yeah. How about you? Good with a bit of bad, or bad with a bit of good?"

"Bad with a bit of good."

Arnold made note of Gerald's response.

"It might interest you to know," Gerald said levelly, "that… she wasn't in history class today."

Arnold looked up from his paper in surprise.

"In fact, I haven't even seen her in the halls. So I know she's not here, because when she's here, you can see her."

Arnold hesitated before looking back down at the questionnaire. "Would you consider yourself an optimist or a pessimist?"

"Oh, an optimist, except when compared to you. And how about you?"

"Today, or in general?"

"Uh oh."

"Optimist, usually."

"And today?" The corner of Gerald's mouth tugged up in the beginnings of a smile.

Arnold's mouth did likewise. "Optimist."

…

Gerald was right—Helga wasn't in school that day. She had been sick, although without a fever, ever since she stumbled her way home the previous night, and that morning had pretty much screamed at her parents that wild horses couldn't drag her to school that day. Even Bob didn't want to argue with her. They allowed her to stay home. She found her way to the medicine cabinet, took a whopping four sleeping aid pills (the dosage was two, Helga knew it could be dangerous but didn't really care), and almost instantly fell asleep, and was such until Miriam shook her awake at about two-thirty that afternoon.

"Criminy, Mom, I'm sick," Helga muttered as her eyes groggily cracked open. "Let me sleep."

"I just don't want your sleep schedule to get out of whack, honey," said Miriam.

Helga's eyes were only half-open, but she still managed to roll them. What did Miriam know about sleep schedules? She was half-asleep thanks to the booze pretty much twenty-four seven.

"Anyway, I'm going to the grocery store to pick up a few things. Do you want anything?"

"Stronger drugs that'll make me sleep longer."

"Oh, you poor thing, I hope you feel better soon." Miriam placed a hand on Helga's forehead and her brows raised in confusion, most likely due to the continued lack of any sort of fever. She shrugged it off, though, and sat up from the side of the bed. "After the store I'll be at Olga and Owen's taking care of Stan. Call me on my cell if you need anything. Your dad should be home around five-thirty."

"Roger," muttered Helga, rolling over to her other side. Soon she heard her mother's car drive away, leaving the house empty—just Helga and her thoughts.

And her thoughts were so overwhelming that she knew she was going to need at _least _four more sleeping pills to silence them again.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "No, that's avoidance. And I can't keep avoiding this. I either have to deal with this or take enough sleeping pills that I _never _wake up. And I don't like the second option." She thought for a minute. "Although I'm not too crazy about the first, either."

Her thoughts snapped back to Arnold. Arnold was her mind's auto-pilot, as it was.

"_Shit," _she moaned helplessly, feeling her throat constrict. "What the hell is my problem? He asked me out and I _threw an algebra book at him! _Why didn't I just say yes?"

Her body tensed. "No! No! I can't say yes! _You're not in love with him anymore, idiot!" _She was gripping her wrist so hard that her hand was turning white. "And I need to end this once and for all! I cannot keep acting like my twelve-year-old self around him anymore! _I'm a different person now!" _

She leapt off her bed and pawed through her closet—her shrineless closet that had been shrineless for three years, she reminded herself, _thank you very much_—for the box that held her elementary school yearbooks and class pictures. Finding it, she pulled one out and looked at the front cover. PS 118, 1996-1997 school year. That would have been fourth grade. Perfect.

She flipped to Mr. Simmons' fourth grade class and looked at the small number of photos on the page—their class had always been one of the smallest throughout elementary school—finding her picture right away. They were printed in black and white, but she knew that the bow and dress she was wearing were pink; that the hair, sticking out to her sides in two pigtails, was blonde. "See?" she said to herself. "I'm a completely different person than that girl there. I've changed a lot in six years. I don't dress like that, my hair doesn't look like that… I'm not even the same person anymore. That girl there? _Not me."_

The picture of fourth grade Helga showed her sporting an annoyed smile, one that clearly said, "I'm only doing this to humor you." A very familiar smile, in truth—Helga still flashed it all the time to her parents, teachers, peers—

"Oh God, _no!" _Helga shrieked, pushing the book aside. "I'm _not _that person anymore! I'm completely different! Which means there's no way in hell that I love…" And, despite her better judgment screaming at her to stop, she pulled the book back to her and looked at the picture of the boy right below her, the picture that had been adorned with hearts and starbursts by the pencil of a fourth grader.

"Arnold," she whispered.

That picture was gorgeous. That half-lidded smile, one that betrayed that his imagination had taken him somewhere else, somewhere better, had been enough to make her nine-year-old self swoon and it was enough to make her fifteen-year-old self swoon too. That boy was amazing. He was _still _amazing.

"And he asked me out… and I _threw my fucking algebra book at him!" _Helga screeched, tearing at her hair in frustration. Her short black hair, not her long blonde hair. Not like it mattered what color or length her hair was. Any dope could change how their hair looked. It didn't mean they were suddenly a different person. What a moron she had been for believing that!

"No, I'm a different person," she insisted wildly. "Even if I was still blonde I'd be a different person. Dammit, Helga, don't you remember how much you hated who you were back then?" _As opposed to how much you hate who you are now? Doesn't seem like that big a difference. _"I was a _MORON! _A complete and utter _MORON! _And I'm not going back!"

The frustrating thing about her idiocy was that she _couldn't _make any excuses for it other than the embarrassing truth—that she had been in love. And even after she had done away with the old Helga, she could still never deny that what she had felt had been true—not just a crush, not just an obsession, but real, honest-to-goodness love. Calling it anything less than that would have made her actions as a child ten times stupider. Also, saying that she hadn't been in love with Arnold was such a huge insult to him, because honestly, like she said to him before, how could she have _not _loved him? How was it that every girl in the _city _wasn't as crazy about him as she was—no, as she had been, because it wasn't there anymore. But still, loving him was just _natural! _And true, she didn't love him anymore, but that was through no fault of his—he was still the same optimistic, caring, gentle dreamer he always had been and that she had loved so dearly. She wasn't in love with him anymore because she had decided that it was time to move on. Love worked like that… right?

_Love's an on/off switch? Come on, Helga, GET REAL._

"Shit," she whispered, tugging at her hair again. "I'm not giving into this. I'm not in love with him. I'll rip my heart right out of my chest to stop myself from falling in love with him again."

_Falling in love with him again? Who are you kidding? You never STOPPED loving him. You're just falling deeper into the pit that you never escaped from_—_and never will._

"No…" Her voice broke, and tears blurred her vision. "I… I _killed _you…"

_Not entirely._

Her head jerked back up, causing the tears to run down her cheeks. "Of… of course! That was my mistake!" She ran back into her room and opened the drawer of her nightstand.

Because she had _not _burned all of her Arnold-related things that day three years ago.

Most. But not all. There was one thing that she couldn't bear to destroy, one thing that she had allowed herself to keep, albeit hidden in the far back of her nightstand. Still, she found it easily.

Her locket.

"Arnold," she whispered again, lovingly, touching the picture so affectionately kept inside—his sixth grade picture, still with that beautiful half-lidded smile that made her heart melt.

She frantically shook her head.

"I know what I have to do," she said, running downstairs and rummaging through the tool drawer, pulling out the biggest hammer she could find. "It'll hurt like hell, just like it did three years ago, but it's the only way." She made her way back up to her room, positioning herself over her nightstand and the locket on top of it, wielding the hammer high in the air…

_Well, get on with it!_

Her arm started to swing.

Only started. But then she shrieked, stopping the motion and throwing her arm back, dropping the hammer to the floor.

"Fuck!" she moaned helplessly, falling to her knees. "What's happening to me? I… I _burned _him! And then I was _over _him! Remember? The next day I thought of him and didn't feel any longing whatsoever!"

_But you still thought of him._

The tears were back, in full force. She couldn't see. She didn't care.

She had thought of him all the time during the last three years.

Marcus Rowe had fancied himself a good kisser. Marcus had used his tongue, something Helga hadn't been accustomed to. And, all in all, his kisses were alright. But still, even with the tongue, she always thought that they couldn't even hold a candle to that gentle peck Arnold had given her while playing Romeo in the school play of Romeo and Juliet.

Marcus had wanted sex. Helga wasn't completely opposed to the idea, but she still held off every time. She didn't particularly buy into the notion that anyone's virginity, much less hers, was worth anything, but still she thought it deserved a little more respect than just handing it off willy-nilly to someone like Marcus. Or… well, to anyone other than Arnold.

"Why are you dumping me?" Marcus had asked that January.

_Because you're not Arnold, _had been her heart's answer. Her rationality, appalled, had twisted that sentence and molded it so that it came out, instead, as, "Because you're a jerk." But that really hadn't been the true reason.

She had looked at Arnold—not just glanced, but actually looked—every time they passed in the hallways in junior high. She did so because she wanted to make sure he was happy. _And I'm glad you are, _she'd always think in satisfaction—although it was a sad satisfaction. Odd that she had never really seen him wander the halls with Wendy… but that would have been around the time she had started dating Marcus, and she had completely thrown herself into him, trying to prove to herself that she could love someone else—and failing. When she had brought Wendy outside of the dance to see her traitorous boyfriend in the flesh, Arnold had been the last person she had been expecting to see—although not that she could blame him, especially after the verbal beating Wendy gave him for just stepping outside. In fact, Helga had been downright furious at Wendy for that. Needy, controlling bitch. How dare she treat Arnold that way? "Wanna trade?" Helga had asked, and she almost wished Wendy had taken her up on her offer. Wendy deserved a lowlife like Marcus. Helga didn't come close to deserving an angel like Arnold, but at least she could appreciate him far more than that _bitch…_

And then she had seen him in the hallways with Melissa Hopkins later that year, and while part of her was glad that he had apparently given Wendy the boot, the other part of her was furious again—_Arnold, can't you see she's just another Wendy? _They held hands and smiled and laughed, and Helga couldn't bear to look at them, her jealousy was so great. She had identified the jealousy as wishing that she could just have a happy, functional relationship like theirs in general, but deep down her heart always knew.

She reached for the locket, her heart so full it was bursting—and simultaneously breaking. Her vision was still clouded by tears, but she could somehow see the locket and Arnold's sixth grade picture perfectly.

"You are my sunshine…" she sang hoarsely, "my only sunshine… you make me happy… when skies are gray…"

Her throat was constricted so much she could hardly get the next line out, but out it came, and with it any remaining attempts at denial.

"You'll never know, dear… how much I love you…"

She held the locket to her heart, crying freely now that her last wall of stubbornness had been knocked down, the last line of the song breathed out in a whisper.

"_Please don't take my sunshine away."_

She sat on her bedroom floor, crying and doing nothing else, for a good ten minutes.

Finally, her eyes seemed to be mostly dried out. She wiped away the last of her tears, looking again at the locket. "Oh, Arnold, my love," she murmured—and it came out so naturally, so clearly, that she wondered why she hadn't been referring to him as such all this time. "I'm such a basket case, darling, and it's all because of you… what ungodly force possessed you to want to spend time with _me?" _She sniffled. Okay, scratch that about her eyes having dried up; there seemed to be more tears just waiting to fall out. "My selfish, egotistical heart wants nothing more than to have you all to myself… but nevertheless, I know what I must do." Yep, the tears were back. "I know that you are far better off without me, my angel. And while I must right the wrong I have done you and finally tell you the truth about how I feel, I also must explain why it is you are better off far, far away from me. It won't take much explaining, dear." She touched the locket and gave a sad smile. "After the way I treated you yesterday in my foolish attempts to deny my love for you, you probably already want nothing more to do with me, and as for me… you mustn't worry about me, my love. I have long since already resigned myself to a miserable, lonely life. I will be content to love you from afar. Watching you be happy and successful as I know you will be is all I ask for."

Her smile broke, and in anguish she set the locket face-down on top of the nightstand. "No matter how much I _want _you," she whispered.

If only she had fully realized her feelings yesterday, when he had actually asked her out! Then maybe, just maybe… But no. No wondering what could have been. It was better for Arnold this way.

Although, if what he wanted was to spend time with her… and she wanted him to be happy… and spending time with her made him happy… was it really a win/win situation?

"No, I can't," Helga snapped at herself. "I love him. I want what's best for him. And that's certainly not me. Besides, not even Arnold could forgive what I did yesterday. He'll probably be glad to finally be rid of me."

She uneasily rose to her feet, picking up the locket again, thinking for a foolish second or two that she needed a more recent picture of him in it—but no, this thing was going back in the drawer where it belonged. "If only I could be rid of you half so easily, my love," she murmured.


	8. Chapter 8

Helga stood next to the band room door Wednesday morning, nervously drumming her fingers. It was 7:55, the bell to go to class would ring in five minutes, and still the band kids weren't back from practice yet. Not that she had intended to have her heart-to-heart with Arnold right then and there anyway, but now it was looking less and less likely that she'd even get a chance to see him before school started.

What's worse, the more time she had to wait to see Arnold, the more her foolish hopes kept climbing. It was bad enough that she had actually done a load—half a load, more like it—of laundry in order to have her short, ruffled, pink plaid skirt clean to wear—the one Arnold had said that he liked. She had actually tried to dress somewhat normally that day, wearing the skirt with simply a lavender hoodie as a top… but she was too much in her rut of making her outfits striking to stop there. On her left leg she wore a dark brown and red argyle knee-high sock, while on her right foot she wore a small, frilly white sock that only went to her ankle. To make up the difference, around her right knee she had tied a pink polka-dotted handkerchief. And, again, she wore her hiking boots. The good, reliable hiking boots that clashed and thus fit with any outfit she wore.

Yes, so it wasn't the traditional "today-I-confess-my-love" outfit, but she was who she was, after all! Besides, she already knew that Arnold liked at least one part of her getup that day. And perhaps he, in his good and kind heart, had forgiven Helga. Perhaps he still wanted to date her. Perhaps—

No, no, _no! _She'd been over this before. Why would she purposely subject her beloved Arnold to a screw-up, good-for-nothing loser like herself? There had to be countless girls in this school who loved him, and who showed that love in other ways than throwing algebra books at him. That was the kind of girl he needed, he deserved. Not someone like her.

"You want to _what?"_

"Gosh, Gerald, I just said I wanted to hold his hand. It's not like that's ever so inappropriate or anything."

"Inappropriate, no. Disgusting as all get out, yes."

"Oh, hello, Helga!" Lila said with delight, seeing Helga leaning against the wall. "What a surprise to see you here!"

"Surprise? What surprise?" Helga asked defensively. "I go wherever I want to go, what's surprising about that?"

"You've got a lot of nerve showing up _here," _Gerald growled.

"Gerald," Lila warned.

"Arnold told me what you did to him," Gerald continued, ignoring Lila. "And now you're going to throw salt in his wounds?"

"Arnold told you?" Helga asked, still on the defensive but also now genuinely surprised.

"I'm his best friend! Why _wouldn't _he tell me? Although I just found out that there were some things I wasn't privy to…" He crossed his arms and gave Helga a demanding stare. "Were you _really _in love with him?"

"_Shut up!" _Helga screeched, lunging for him.

Lila jumped between them, somehow holding them back from maiming each other despite her small, slender frame. "Gerald, I wish you wouldn't goad Helga so. And while I too am ever so disappointed in Helga after what she did to Arnold on Monday, I'm sure she has a very good reason for being here."

"Damn straight I do!" Helga said. "I'm going to _apologize _to him, because believe it or not I'm 'ever so' disappointed in myself, too! And—wait, he told _you _too? That little blabbermouth!"

"This might be a tough concept for you to grasp, Helga," said Gerald, still irritated, "but we're his _friends, _and when we could tell that something was bothering him we wouldn't let him slide by with an answer of 'nothing'! And if you actually showed your cowardly face at school yesterday, you would have seen for yourself just how upset and miserable he was! Because of _you!"_

"Miserable?" Helga asked softly, her eyes growing wide.

"You _did _really hurt his feelings, Helga," said Lila diplomatically. "He really does like you, ever so much."

"God help him," Gerald muttered.

"Oh _shit," _Helga whispered helplessly. "Now I _must _apologize, although what can I possibly say to make amends for how cruelly I have treated such a forgiving, caring soul? And…" Her voice trailed off as she realized both Gerald and Lila were staring at her. "…And would you two _get LOST?"_

"Get lost?" repeated Gerald, offended. "Listen, sister, we're his friends and we always meet him here before—"

The bell rang.

"Criminy, where _is _he?" Helga cried furiously.

Answering her question, the outside doors flung open and the marching band kids half ran, half stumbled into the building, making a beeline for the band room.

"Well, so much for talking to him," Gerald sighed, turning to leave.

"Wait," Lila said, grabbing his arm.

Arnold was one of the last in the building. "Arnold!" Helga shouted.

He stared at her in surprise. "Helga?"

Helga could hardly find the breath to speak. "Can I talk to you after school? In the tutoring room? It's important."

His gaze at her was soft, forgiving, not at all condemning, and she felt her heart positively glow. "Sure," he said gently.

"I… I'll make it all better," Helga whispered.

Arnold drew in his breath in shock.

And in a flash, she was headed down the opposite hallway.

Gerald raised an eyebrow. "Well, pardon my French, but ho-ly _shit."_

Lila just smiled. "Don't just stand there, Arnold. You're going to be late for class if you don't get your cymbals put away."

For Arnold was standing frozen in the hallway, staring open-mouthed down the hallway where Helga had disappeared.

…

Throughout the day, Helga had become more and more of a nervous wreck, so that by the time school ended and she, slowly and trembling, made her way to the tutoring room, she felt like she was going to throw up. _Wouldn't that just be great, _she thought to herself. _I can see it now_—_"Arnold, I'm in love with you_—_BLEEEGGGHH!" _She shuddered. Well, even if she did blow chunks all over him, who cared? They weren't going to be together either way, so hell, why not? Why not turn him off from her completely?

_What am I doing? I practically have him in the palm of my hand and I'm going to toss him away! _She stood up straighter, pushing open the door. _No, it's for the best. I need to release him from me so that he can have that wonderful, amazing life he deserves. I'd only drag him down._

She sat down at the table, finding herself, amazingly, actually smiling in amusement, the song "I Will Always Love You" suddenly jumping into her brain. _Maybe I can just sing him that. Then he'll get the message._

This would probably be the last time she'd ever really talk to him, she realized with a crushing blow. Fighting back tears, she sat up straighter in her chair, rehearsing what she would say to him—if this was going to be the last thing she ever said to him, she wanted to get it right.

_Arnold, I'm sorry for yelling at you on Monday. I wasn't really angry at you, I was more scared_—_scared of my feelings for you. Because yes, Arnold, I finally realized it and admitted it_—_I love you. I always have. Burning you did nothing, and it never could. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you, but… well, you know how I am. Sometimes I just explode without thinking. What I did and said to you has made me almost literally sick, and I don't want to put you through that again. That's why I have to leave you. You'll be happier without me, and I want you to be happy. That's all I ask. You deserve someone far better than me, and I know you'll find her in no time. I love you, I always have, I always will, but I've finally realized that we can never be together. I'll be alright without you. I've managed this long; I can manage the rest of my life. I wish you all the happiness in the world, my love… farewell…_

She gulped down the tears threatening to form in her eyes. There, that would work. Surely he'd understand her after that speech and leave her. And it should put to rest any lingering feelings he happened to have for her.

_I finally get him to like me in a more-than-friends way and I LEAVE HIM!_

Oh God. What if he insisted on sticking it out? That was something Arnold would do, too. Say something like "you're not bad for me, you won't ruin me, I want to be with you"? Helga felt herself melting into her chair. That generous hand, extending out to her even when all hope seemed to be lost, putting his heart and soul on the line to help the unfortunate? _Oh, you angel, _how quickly she'd take that hand, stroke it, caress it, caress every inch of his body and never, ever let go—

"Fuck, no, I can't!" Helga screeched, slapping herself in the face. "Even if he wants me… even if I want him—and _holy shit _do I want him—our relationship would just end up in tatters. I don't want to hurt him. I'm not going to hurt him anymore."

_But just TELLING him that is going to hurt him._

Helga curled up helplessly. "Fuck," she said again, weakly. "Oh, Arnold, I can't… _not _hurt you. Fuck. That's the one thing I want to avoid. But fuck it, no matter what I do…" She sat up again. "But you'll get over it. And this is better than how much I'd eventually hurt you in the long run. This is the only way."

She looked towards the door. She hadn't exactly been prompt in getting there, and yet Arnold still wasn't there yet.

"Come in when my composure's sound, football head," she muttered, "don't wait until it crumbles again like I know it will…"

She sat staring at the door, nervously drumming her fingers, her thoughts repeating themselves over and over, for a good five minutes.

_He's not coming._

"He's coming. He just… got held up or something. He's defending some poor, helpless person, or helping someone who fell down the stairs, or something. He'll be here."

_So WHAT what he's doing. It doesn't matter why he's not coming. The point is, he's not coming._

Helga's shoulders trembled.

_This isn't meant to happen. You and your stupid belief that maybe he'll want you back. That's not meant to be. Can't you see that? What's the bother in even talking to him anymore? What does it matter that you're sorry? What does it matter that you love him? The bottom line is, you can never have him. So don't even try, loser._

"_Fuck," _she whispered.

Couldn't even argue with that logic.

She stormed out of the room, angry, heartbroken, crushed, to find Phoebe and her friend Jenny conversing in the hallway outside the tutoring room. Seeing Helga, Phoebe's expression immediately became concerned. "Helga? What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Everything! Just—never mind!" Helga cried frantically, shoving her way past them and out the door.

Jenny, who only knew of Helga and didn't actually know her, said to Phoebe in confusion, "Do you know her?"

"She's my friend… she was my best friend in elementary school." Phoebe looked towards the door worriedly. "Usually when she's in moods like this it's best to let her brood, but I think something's _really _bothering her today… I hope she'll be alright."

"Maybe she realized that her socks don't match."

Phoebe gave Jenny a stern look.

"It was just a joke," said Jenny apologetically.

"I think I know what the real reason is… and it's not socks," Phoebe said softly.

Running footsteps interrupted them, and they both turned to see Arnold running down the hallway… with a black eye.

"Arnold! What happened to you?" Phoebe asked.

"There was a fight—I tried to break it up, but got pounded instead—just got out of the nurse's office—" And with those breathless explanations, Arnold quickly opened the door to the tutoring room and looked in… and found it empty.

"She left, Arnold," said Phoebe sadly.

Arnold turned around in surprise. "She _left?"_

"Just now. Maybe you can still catch her."

"And I know where she's going," said Arnold quickly, running out the same door Helga had left from.

"Wow. What was _that _all about?" Jenny asked.

Phoebe just smiled. "The start of something fantastic, I hope."

…

Was some twist of fate trying to _prevent _them from talking to each other?

Arnold still couldn't be entirely sure what it was Helga wanted to talk to him about, but he had a fairly good idea… especially after her "I'll make it all better" remark. Lila might turn out to be right after all. But it seemed that he might have blown his chance. His attempt to stop the two juniors from fighting in the hallways had only landed him in the nurse's office with a black eye, and put him even more behind schedule than he had been before.

But wait, he thought to himself, running out the door and in a westerly direction, towards the Trotskys' house. Helga couldn't be too far ahead of him, and once he caught up to her and explained why he had been held up—and the black eye was proof of that—he'd be able to figure out what she wanted to tell him. Something important. Something that may or may not be admitting feelings for him. …Again, with Helga, it was impossible to know for sure until she out and said so. But still… "I'll make it all better"…

As it turned out, she wasn't very far ahead of him at all. "Helga, wait!" he yelled.

Helga snapped around and stared at him, her eyes betraying both her anger and her heartbreak. "Leave me alone, Arnold! I never want to see you again!" She started power-walking even faster away from him.

"I'm sorry I was late!" Arnold said, running to catch up with her. "But there were these two guys fighting in the hallway and I tried to stop them…"

Helga abruptly slowed down, staring at Arnold's face piteously. "Oh my God… your eye…" But then she suddenly shook her head, as if pushing herself away from some thought. "I don't care why you were late. It doesn't matter. I don't want to talk to you, football head! Now get away from me!" She literally started running this time.

Arnold braced himself, kicking into overdrive—he was shorter than she was, after all, and had shorter legs, and catching up to her now would be a challenge. "I don't think so, Helga!" he said, somehow quickly closing the distance between them. "You said you wanted to talk to me and I'm not going to leave you alone until I find out what it is!"

"Get away, you creep! It doesn't matter anymore!"

"Not this time!" Arnold, finally catching up to her on the overpass over Parkinson's Creek, grabbed her by the wrists… and accidentally dug his nails into her skin.

"_Ouch!" _Helga screeched.

Arnold immediately let go of her. "Sorry. Oh jeez… I'm sorry."

Helga pushed his hands away. "Just… just go away, Arnold. I meant it when I said I never wanted to see you again, you… you _prick. _Now—"

Arnold interrupted her by grabbing her wrists again, taking care this time to not dig his nails in them. "I said not this time! You wanted to tell me something, and I'm not going to let you run away from me again!"

"Let _go _of me, dammit!"

"Not until you tell me what you wanted to tell me!"

"I was going to tell you that you're a grade-A idiot of a football-headed _moron, _you bastard! Now let me go!"

"Helga! Tell me the _truth! _I don't care what the truth is, and I won't get mad at you whatever it is… even if it's something… well, you know. Just stop _lying _to me!"

"I'm not lying! I hate your fucking guts! And if you don't let go of me I swear I'll smear those guts on the pavement!" She struggled against his grip.

"I'm _not _going to let you do this."

"Bastard! Let me go!"

And, through the struggle, Arnold heard the clatter of something hitting the pavement beneath him.

It took him a moment to register… but luckily, it took Helga a moment to register too. But soon her angry glare changed to a look of nervous horror, and Arnold, overtaken by some outside force, moved quickly (although it felt like slow-motion to him) and snatched up the small object that had fallen out of the pocket of Helga's hoodie before she could get to it first.

It was a heart-shaped locket with his sixth grade picture in it.

"Yeah, I'm _sure _you had nothing important to tell me!" he said, more harshly than he had intended.

"_FUCK YOU! _Give that back _RIGHT NOW!" _Helga shrieked, lunging towards him.

Arnold quickly held the locket over the water of the muddy creek below. "I'll drop it if you come any nearer!" he cried quickly.

Helga froze. "You… you… I'll pry it out of your hands anyway!" she spat out decisively, but still didn't make a move.

"I'll drop it," Arnold repeated. "In fact, maybe I'll just drop it anyway. I mean, if you really are completely over me like you say you are, what use do you have for this anymore?" He loosened his grip ever so slightly on the locket, and it slid an inch lower in his hand.

"_NO!" _shrieked Helga.

Arnold's grip tightened. "Now tell me the truth! What did you want to tell me… and why are you carrying around my sixth grade picture?" _Especially considering that's not at all my best picture, _Arnold found himself thinking. _If you wanted a more recent one I'd be more than happy to…_

"You… you don't know what you're doing!" Helga cried, her voice angry but her eyes wide as if on the verge of tears.

Arnold felt his glare soften too. "Helga… look, I'm sorry. I really don't want to do this. But I want you to tell me the truth. Whatever it is, don't be afraid to tell me. I'm not going to yell at you, or make fun of you, or run away from you… please, Helga, just tell me the truth."

Helga turned her head away from Arnold, looking down at the water and breathing heavily. Arnold waited.

She looked back at him.

"The truth… the truth is that, okay, so I lied to you. I didn't destroy everything I had of you. I kept that stupid locket, because some idiotic part of me wouldn't let me destroy it. And that part of me… was… was so happily dormant for these past three years, but then you had to show up and bring her back out, and… and I _hated _that! I—I—I don't want you, and I don't want that part of me to overtake me. So… so like I said, I never, ever want to see you again, because… I really can't stand being around you. I hate you and what you do to me. That's what I was going to tell you. And… and I was going to give you that locket anyway, because I sure as hell don't need it anymore."

She looked down at her feet. "So go ahead… drop it in the creek for all I care. Do whatever you want with it. I just don't care."

Arnold looked at the locket, his glare completely gone, and then back at Helga, still staring forlornly at the ground.

He turned over her right hand and placed the locket in it.

"Arnold?" Helga asked, looking back up at him, his name coming out as a squeak. "What are you—"

"I don't want it either, Helga… it's your locket. Besides, I said I'd give it back if you told me the truth."

Helga stared incredulously at him, then at the locket, then back at him… and Arnold felt something, he didn't know what, go off inside of him with shock when he saw that there were tears in her eyes. "Oh… oh… _dammit, _Arnold!" she choked out.

And suddenly she was kissing him.

His body was frigid and turning to putty at the same time, their right hands still clasped around the locket and her left hand cupping his face. And while this was one of the several hundred possibilities he had imagined as what it was she wanted to say, there was still shock shooting through his veins, shock and something else… this warmth filling him, as he realized that while he had wanted the truth from her, the truth was that he had been hoping that _this _was the truth.

She pulled her lips away from his for a moment. "How's _that _for the truth?" she murmured.

"…More what I was expecting," Arnold admitted.

"Dammit, Arnold," she said again, kissing him once more. "I mean…" Another kiss. "We shouldn't be…" Another kiss. "We can't do this." Another kiss.

"Why not?" Arnold asked quickly during a moment when his lips happened to be free… although those gaps between kisses still felt too long. Without thinking he brought his free left hand to Helga's waist.

"Because… _ooooohhhh hoooooooly shiiiiiiiit…"_

"…what? What's wrong?"

"Nothing… you're _touching _me…" Helga's face had completely melted into a lovesick gaze.

"Sorry…" Arnold withdrew his hand.

"No… don't be…"

He placed his hand back on her waist, and her face melted even more, if that was possible.

"So," Arnold said softly, looking up into her soft with emotion eyes, "are you going to tell me the truth _now?"_

"Oh… oh shit, Arnold, I shouldn't have…" Helga recoiled a bit, but not enough to get away from Arnold's hand on her side, or even letting go of his hand or bringing her left hand away from his face. "This wasn't how this was supposed to… okay, the truth. The truth is… the truth is… I'm sorry." She sniffled back tears. "I was a grade-A bitch to you Monday, and…"

"It's okay." Arnold stroked her side instinctively.

"_Oh God, you angel!" _Helga moaned. "I mean—dammit Arnold, stop _doing _this to me! I'm sorry. That's what I was going to say. I'm a terrible person and scared of my own emotions and I took it out on you, not wanting to admit to myself that… that I _love _you. I never _stopped _loving you. I know I lied to you but I lied to myself too, and I only just now realized it…"

She leaned down and kissed him again, and Arnold closed his eyes and sighed against her, letting himself bask in, bar-none, the best kisser he'd ever experienced, and… _oh God was that her TONGUE?_

"Wait!" Helga quickly pulled away again, slapping herself with her left hand. "And the other thing I was going to tell is I that I can't have you. I shouldn't. Shit. You deserve someone way better and more stable than me. This wasn't supposed to go this way." She kissed his jaw line. "Shit! There I go again! I can't… stop…" She kissed the corner of his mouth. "Oh God, my love, I have to get away from you before I completely ruin your life…" She kissed his cheek. "I'm used to loving you from afar. I can spend the rest of my life doing that, especially knowing that you'll be happy with someone else." Another kiss on the lips. "And what I really should be doing right now is being a jerk to you to make it easier for you to get on with your life and forget me…" Another kiss. "But I just can't stop…" Another kiss. "Dammit, I burned you out of my life, but even the flames of a bonfire could never destroy my love for you!" Another kiss. "Wait, criminy, what am I _doing?" _She finally pulled away from him, although it looked like this took a great effort out of her, and let go of his hand, keeping hold of the locket defensively. "Look, we can't do this. I can't keep doing this and… make it worse. We can't be together, and I can't keep giving you—giving _me_—these stupid false hopes. Fuck! Don't look at me and make me want to kiss you again! I should have completely killed you and burned you and everything about you when I had the chance! But you're still here and alive and amazing and I _adore _you and… and _fuck you!"_

There was a moment of silence.

"That's the weirdest thing you've ever said to me," Arnold finally said. "And you've said a _lot _of weird things to me."

Helga scowled at him. "After all that, is that _all _you have to say?"

"No, actually, I have a _lot _to say… I just couldn't really get a word in edgewise."

"Wonder why that was," an elderly man who was sitting on a bench and had witnessed it all remarked sarcastically.

"Hey, pal!" Helga spat out, sticking up her index finger. "You see this? Ignore it." She added her middle finger to the mix.

"_Helga!" _Arnold chided.

"Either let the poor kid talk, or get a room, for Pete's sake," the man said. "You think I wanna watch this?"

"You can always move, genius!" Helga snapped. "That's been building up inside of me for twelve years now, and I'm not going to just turn it off because you're too lazy to get up and move!"

"Twelve years? Wait, how old are you?"

"Fifteen!"

"Land sakes. I guess I _will _get going then. You mean business."

"That's not necessary, sir," Arnold said quickly. "We don't have to stay here."

"You're right," said Helga quickly. "In fact, I need to go and baby-sit Stan, you know, so… see ya, Arnold." She tried to turn to leave.

"Nuh-uh," said Arnold, grabbing Helga's hand. "Can you please let _me _talk now?"

"Can't. I'm already late. Owen will roast my ass as it is." Helga made a slight move as if she was trying to make herself leave, but still remained where she was.

"I'll walk with you then and talk to you while we walk there," said Arnold. "Because don't think you're going to do what you just did to me and not let me get to say my side of things."

"There's nothing more for either of us to say," said Helga quickly, starting to walk towards the Trotskys' house again. However, Arnold was doing a good job of keeping up with her, holding her hand again.

"Helga, come on. You just kissed me more times that I can count and basically told me you've passionately loved me for the past twelve years—and we're only fifteen, so that's a pretty good portion of your life. Am I right?" The corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile.

"Yes… _yes…" _Helga gazed at him lovingly, her voice coming out as an airy whisper. But just as soon as the moment appeared, it vanished—she angrily shook her head and broke herself out of it, snapping, "So? You got a problem with that?"

"No, but—"

"Well, good, because… wait. You _don't _have a problem with that?" Helga asked incredulously.

"Not with that, but I _do _have a problem with some of the other things you said, and that's why I need to talk to you. So will you let me?" He looked up at her earnestly, hoping that however he looked at that moment was enough to get her tender side to want to do him a favor. It felt a little bit like taking advantage of her feelings… but he wasn't going to think about that right now. Anyway, it seemed like no matter what he did he ended up taking advantage of her feelings, whether he meant to—or even realized it—or not.

He knew right away that whatever face he had made at her had worked, because her gaze immediately went back to the soft, dreamy one (the one that, truthfully, made his stomach flutter a bit). "Of… of course…"

Arnold took a deep breath, trying to figure out where to begin. When saying anything, especially something of great importance, he liked to have as much time as possible to rehearse it and make sure he got it right before saying it… but Helga's emotions were too urgent to put off until later. "You said that we couldn't be together because I deserve someone better than you, right?"

Helga nodded dumbly.

"Well," said Arnold with a shrug, "that I _do _have a problem with, for two reasons. One, you should really let me decide for myself who I 'deserve' to be with, and—"

"But can't you see that—"

Arnold let go of Helga's hand and brought his hand to her mouth, silencing her. "I'm not done yet," he said gently.

Helga continued to just give him an utterly stupefied, enamored gaze.

"And two," Arnold continued, "you're… you're giving me too much credit and you not enough, I guess. You make it sound like I'm degrading myself to date someone who's flawed, but that's not the case. I'm flawed too, just like everyone else. And, yes, that does include you. But you're also just… this really talented, intelligent, caring person, and I don't think you realize that."

"Oh, Arnold, your compassion and praise is like fire to my cold and lonely heart!" Helga cried passionately.

Arnold stared at her, speechless.

"Uh, sorry about that," Helga said sheepishly. "Just a word of warning, though… you'll probably hear stuff like that from me a lot. But anyway…" She sighed, half sadly, half in confusion. "You honestly just called me caring? Only a kind, pure heart like yours could even pretend something like that. You know how cruel I can be! You more than anyone else! I refuse to let you go on believing such false things about me, and… Arnold, darling, your _eye,_" she choked out, touching his blackened eye gently. "It pains me to see you so bruised! I swear, whoever did this to you, I'll rip out his left lung and—and—but not before nursing you back to health, of course—"

"You see?" laughed Arnold. "You've just proven my point! Yes, I know how mean you can be, but you can be just as loving and gentle, too."

"It's called being _volatile, _Arnold," moaned Helga, pressing her hands to her cheeks hopelessly as she quickened her pace. "And it's not normally a desired trait in a potential significant other. Don't you see? I don't want to put you through my mood swings anymore, alright? The things I can do to you when I'm really angry—what I _have _done—they literally make me sick. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, let alone you. I love you too much to make that even the tiniest _possibility, _understand? I… I just want you to be happy, my love."

"But I'm happy when I'm with _you," _said Arnold gently. "I asked you out two days ago, remember? And it wasn't as a joke."

"That was two days ago," murmured Helga. "And then I yelled at you and threw a book at you."

"You've done worse," shrugged Arnold.

"_I've_—_done_—_WORSE?" _Helga looked positively thunderstruck. "Oh, my dearest beloved, you truly _are _an angel on earth! Your endlessly forgiving soul cannot have sprung from the same mess of a system that produced the rest of this miserable planet! There are no words even a _tenth _as powerful as my love for you!"

Arnold just stared again. "…Wow."

"Oh, criminy!" Helga cried, slapping herself in the face. "Sorry about that."

"Helga—"

He took her face in his hands and gazed up at her, questioningly and wondrously, causing Helga's thunderstruck look to intensify a thousand percent.

"Why didn't you tell me you felt this way about me sooner?" he asked her softly.

"I… I _did, _you idiot," Helga whispered, leaning in close to him, her eyes nearly closed. "I did after we did Romeo and Juliet. I did on the top of the FTI building."

"But after Romeo and Juliet you said it was only how you'd write a romance," Arnold whispered back, also leaning in so that their lips were nearly touching. "And after the FTI building you took it back."

"I… didn't want… to get hurt. I didn't want to hurt… _you."_

"Whatever happens… I promise I won't hurt you. And I won't let you hurt me."

"Oh, Arnold…"

They were literally a fraction of an inch away from kissing when Arnold drew back. "Helga, wait," he said quickly. She opened her eyes, surprised, upset, disappointed.

"There is one thing you should know," Arnold continued. "We are… unbalanced. What I mean to say is that… well, I don't feel for you like you feel for me."

"Of course not… I'd be worried for you if you did," said Helga.

"That came out wrong," said Arnold quickly. "What I mean is… look… I just… don't know how I feel about you. I really don't know if… if I love you or not. It's not as bad as it sounds, I mean, even though I can't say for sure that I love you, I can't say for sure that I _don't_ love you either…" He sighed. "What I _can _say for sure is that… I like you. I like you a lot, even when you're being difficult. And I want to spend time with you… and even if you want to spend that time with me yelling at me… or kissing me, or going off on poetic tangents, or throwing things at me… I can take anything you can dish out, I guess is what I'm trying to say. I like you for who you are, and I want to spend time with you… no matter what side of you that is."

Inwardly he kicked himself—that was _so_ awkward, _so_ lame, especially compared to the amazingly strange and strangely amazing things she was telling him, and despite how much Helga was going on about how wondrous he was and how crummy she was, he suddenly felt like _she _was the greater of the two of them. How could she have such an ease and such a way with words?

Helga gazed upward towards the sky and sighed with pure bliss.

Well, okay… so _she _apparently hadn't found it lame.

And then, to his surprise, in a small, soft, happy voice, she started to sing.

"Is it in his eyes… oh no, you'll be deceived… is it in his eyes… oh no, he'll make believe… if you wanna know, if he loves you so, it's in his kiss… that's where it is…"

She looked back down at him. Their eyes remained locked on each other for a few seconds.

And then she suddenly snorted impatiently. _"Kiss me, _you idiot!"

"Uh… kiss you?" Arnold repeated awkwardly.

"You say you don't know how you feel about me… well, maybe if you kiss me, you'll get a better idea! So come on! Kiss me! If you don't, I will—and you _know _I will!"

"Alright," said Arnold softly.

"Alright?" Helga repeated in a tiny voice. Apparently she hadn't been expecting Arnold to actually take her up on her offer.

"Yeah," Arnold whispered, bringing his hands back to the sides of her face, stroking her cheeks with his index fingers. Partly it was a stalling method, because—despite a decent amount of practice in the area—he wasn't exactly the best kisser in the world. Especially not compared to _her. _It had also been awhile since he had… oh, hell, worrying wasn't going to make it easier. Gently, he brought her face down to his level and touched her lips to his.

And then, he tried to concentrate on what he was feeling.

But what he was feeling was _her. _He felt her freeze at first and then suddenly melt, not taking over the kiss but seemingly let it take over her. Her lips felt warm, her arms around his body felt comforting, she felt… _right. _He couldn't think of another word for it. She felt right.

His lips parted from hers but their faces were still close, and as they both opened their eyes and Helga's loving, enraptured ones met his, it was as if they were scrambling his brain so that he couldn't think straight.

_It's just a rush. You can't say you're in love after a kiss like that. You have to think about it. You don't just suddenly realize something like that after just one kiss. Even though it's actually been about twenty…_

"I still don't know," Arnold admitted, their lips still millimeters away.

"I don't care," breathed Helga with a blissful smile.

Arnold let go of her face and held her hand again, starting to walk back towards the Trotskys'. Despite all that was happening, he really didn't want to make Owen late again, or get him angry at Helga. "If we're going to date," he said slowly, "I just want to make sure that you'll let me have a life outside of you, too. I have other friends, and family, and I can't suddenly drop everything and make my whole life revolve around you."

"Of course," murmured Helga, although not in such a lovesick way that she wouldn't have been even processing what he was saying. "I mean, I have my own life too. Of course, I can certainly make room for you…"

"But without dropping anything. That goes for both of us."

"Right. And I just want to… apologize in advance if I get crazily obsessive or anything. Or if I'm constantly a bitch to you. I don't want to be, but sometimes I don't know how to be anyone else."

"It's fine. I'm not sure if I could get used to you if you suddenly became another person, anyway. Oh, and… uh, I'm not sure how to say this… but… um… please don't… pressure me into… deciding if I love you or not, okay? These things take time to figure out… at least for me…"

"Arnold, dear, I've been waiting for twelve years. I'm obviously pretty patient about this sort of thing." She smirked at him. "Although if it's been another twelve years and you still haven't figured it out, I'm giving up. You have until you're twenty-seven, bucko. If you still can't decide by then, you're outta luck."

"I'll keep that in mind," smiled Arnold.

They had made it to the Trotskys' house, with Owen standing in the front doorway, scowling at them. "Jesus, Helga!" Owen snapped. "Ever since you met that football-headed guy, you've showed up late pretty much every day! I don't want him here anymore. I don't care if you have to get tutored. Your grade will be fine without him. Now get the hell off of my property, Archie or whatever your name is."

"Don't you _dare _talk to him like that," Helga growled.

"No, Helga, it's alright, I should be getting home," said Arnold quickly. "I've got a lot to think about… and maybe I could find you a more recent picture of me, too." He winked.

Helga sighed in contentment again. "That would be _heavenly…"_

"Well, come on!" Owen snapped. "Get out of here!"

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Arnold softly.

"Yeah… see you tomorrow, Arnold," murmured Helga, letting go of his hand and turning towards the house.

But then, as if on a second thought, she suddenly turned around, pulled him towards her, and kissed him.

"Holy mother of…" Owen said in shock.

Helga pulled away after a few seconds. "I love you," she whispered.

Arnold almost said "I love you too", although luckily he stopped himself—that would have just been from watching too many romance movies and knowing how they went, not because that was necessarily what he felt. He didn't want to lie to her, even though… even though he wasn't one hundred percent sure it _was _a lie. But instead he caught himself, just staring stupefied at her for a minute or two, then his stare mellowing into a smile.

Helga climbed up the steps to the front door, where Owen was still half staring, half glaring at Arnold as he walked away. "I thought you two said you weren't dating!" he finally said.

"We weren't, up until a few minutes ago," murmured Helga, watching Arnold leave with love in her eyes.

"What does he _see _in you, anyway?" Owen muttered, descending the stairs and heading for his car without another word to Helga.

"I have no idea," Helga admitted.

Soon Arnold was out of sight and Owen had driven away.

Still standing in the doorway, Helga reached into her pocket and pulled out her locket with Arnold's old picture inside.

"But whatever it is… I sure hope I don't mess it up."


	9. Chapter 9

Helga was writing poetry again.

Not the purposely vague stuff about anger and death and hopelessness and creaky floorboards like she had taken to writing during the past few years. She was back to writing love poems. She couldn't _stop _writing them.

At first she had thought that she'd need to get another notebook for them, having to scrounge up spare scraps of paper for her poems for the time being. But soon, she realized that she didn't need a notebook—these poems weren't going to just sit in her closet like her old poems had. They were written for Arnold, and Arnold was going to read them. Every day before school, she'd slip a poem or two through the vents of his locker. Since they had no classes together, this was about the extent of their interaction during the school day… but every other evening or so they'd go to movies or museums or wrestling matches or cheese-tasting festivals or whatever struck their fancy that night.

But every single night, Helga prayed. She had never been particularly religious, but sheer dread compelled her. Oh, no, there was nothing wrong with her relationship with Arnold—it was _perfect, _all—well, almost all—she had ever hoped for. And that was the problem. She had never gotten what she wanted. Happiness eluded her. Why was it so prevalent in her life now? Her happiness never lasted… and that was what terrified her.

"God, or Allah, or Buddha, or Zeus or whoever's up there if anyone, I don't care who, just… _please _don't take him away from me," she'd pray every night. "Now that I finally have him, I don't think I could survive if anything snatched him away… and I swear, if you take him away from me I will _fucking explode."_

Not that she expected this to last anyway. Eventually Arnold would grow tired of her and move on to someone else. She accepted this. But it had to be a _gradual _thing if she was ever going to even somewhat bounce back from it. If something happened to him… if he _died… _she wouldn't be able to handle it.

She tried not to think of it, though. Especially when she was with him. Given how rarely she was this happy, she wanted to completely enjoy the moments with him without any worrying whatsoever.

"Arnold, this is one of your weirdest date ideas yet."

Arnold smirked at Helga. "Hey, last week I let you take me to that monster truck rally. It's my turn to pick this week."

"Your rooftop." Helga looked around, the autumn night fully set in but the lights from the street below giving more than enough illumination to clearly see. "Well, it is inexpensive, which is a plus. But what exactly are we going to _do _up here?" Her eyes suddenly grew wide.

"I thought we'd—oh, _jeez, _Helga," Arnold suddenly said, blushing, realizing _exactly_ what Helga had been thinking of. "Your mind is completely in the gutter, do you know that?"

"_My _mind's in the gutter?" Helga repeated. "I'm not the one who brought my significant other up on top of a building under the starlight where nobody can see us!"

"I brought us up here to look at the stars, Helga. I do that a lot by myself, and it's very peaceful and relaxing, and I thought you'd like it too. That's all!"

"Yeah. Relaxing." Helga felt her face flushing, her sentences becoming uncharacteristically short and choppy. "Under the stars. You and me. Alone. Um…" She rubbed her arm and looked back at him. "Are you _sure _you're not going anywhere else with this, darling?"

"Helga—"

"Because if you are, I'd, uh—"

"Helga!"

"Oh, criminy, you're right," Helga quickly said, turning away. "We're too young, and you… I mean, you probably don't actually want… and besides," she added hurriedly, _"I _couldn't, because I think it would kill me, so—"

"_Kill _you?" Arnold repeated in shock.

Jesus. Would _this _take some explaining. "I mean, the emotions would kill me. My emotions. Sometimes I feel like I've died when I just _look _at you. Can you imagine what would happen to me if we were to actually _fuck? _Wait, that's such a harsh word—if we were to actually make love? Oh God, but that's so cliché…"

"I get the picture either way," said Arnold quickly.

"Besides," added Helga, flipping her hair back, "I know that's not what you want. You're right, my mind is in the gutter. So let's forget this whole thing ever happened, okay? It's not what you want, and I'm okay with that."

"Who says it's not what I want?" Arnold murmured.

Helga stared back at Arnold.

"_What?" _Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

"I mean—" Arnold quickly shook his head. "No, you're right, we shouldn't. I don't want to, uh, kill you. Besides, like you said, we're pretty young…"

"Not _that _young," Helga murmured, taking a step closer to Arnold.

"It would still feel…" Arnold took a step closer to Helga. "It wouldn't feel right to me." He held her hands in his.

"Darling angel… if my first time isn't with you, then I don't want to _have _a first time."

"I… it still wouldn't feel right to me, Helga."

"Of course." Helga slid her hands out from his and turned away. Stupid horny loser she was, getting her hopes up again only to have them shattered, along with any remaining dignity she had—now he probably thought that all she wanted was sex, that she was some hormone-charged freak—of course, not that she _didn't _want sex, but he meant so much more to her than that!

"Although, maybe…" Arnold's gentle, perfect voice melted Helga's inner berating. "Maybe we could… I mean… I could touch you. I mean, I could touch your…" He cupped his hands out over his chest, showing what he was talking about. "You know."

Helga laughed before she could stop herself. "Arnold, my love, you are simply _adorable _when you try to be polite and flirty at the same time! They're called boobs. Here." Her smile softened but didn't fade as she reached to unbutton her shirt. She had _known _there was a reason why she was so set on wearing one of Miriam's old button-down shirts today!

"You're really going to—I mean—uh—" Arnold turned his head away, but kept stealing glances at Helga anyway. She felt her heart dance.

"It's okay, Arnold," she said gently, slowly and deliberately pulling apart each button one by one. "I want this. I've wanted this for a long time. And you're the only person I've ever wanted to show them to. You always have been. And… why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded.

For Arnold's incredulous stare had turned into almost amusement when Helga had finished opening her shirt, an expression that would have been more suitable if she had just told a joke. "It's white," he said, a hint of laughter beginning to grow in his voice. "Your bra is white. I was expecting it to be striped and polka-dotted or something."

Understanding Arnold's reason for his somewhat inappropriate response, Helga let herself laugh a bit too. "Sorry to disappoint you. I'll make sure to wear leopard-print next time."

"I'm just not used to your clothes matching."

"Stripes and polka-dots _would _match. Boring white doesn't. So it shocked you, and thus it did its job."

"I was surprised because it was completely _normal. _It's strange to see you wearing something normal."

"Well, if it bothers you so much…" Helga reached back and up underneath her shirt and grabbed the hooks of her bra. Arnold gulped and rocked forward a little bit.

"It doesn't bother me… but…"

"But take it off anyway, right?" smiled Helga.

Arnold gulped again and nodded. _Pinch me, I must be dreaming, he wants to see my boobs, _Helga thought to herself.

Her hands stayed frozen on her bra hooks. "Marcus always pressured me for just a peek… but I never let him see even this much," she admitted softly.

"Why… why not?" Arnold asked, leaning in closer.

"Because it would have felt really slutty to do this for someone I wasn't in love with," she answered.

Arnold leaned in even closer, holding one hand at the level of Helga's breasts. "You're not a slut," he murmured.

"You're not a slut either."

He placed his hand on her breast, and even though there was still fabric separating her from his touch, Helga still let out a moan of pleasure. Time to stop fooling around and get his hands on her, touching, caressing, rubbing, squeezing, _everything!_

Her hands grasped her bra hooks firmly.

"Hey, Shortman, ya up there?"

"_Shit!" _Arnold and Helga both hissed at the same time, Arnold immediately backing away from Helga and Helga quickly buttoning up her shirt.

In no time at all, Phil peeked up from the skylight. "Yep, there you are! Oh, hey there, Helga!"

Helga hastily fastened her last button. "Hey, Phil, how's it going?" she said quickly.

Phil looked at Helga—or more specifically, her shirt—then at Arnold, then back at Helga. "Well," he said knowingly, "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Was there something you wanted to tell me, Grandpa?" Arnold asked.

"Just wanted to know where you were," said Phil, a smile forming on his lips. "I'll leave you two alone now… underneath the stars, a romantic evening…"

Arnold and Helga laughed nervously.

"Ya know, Shortman, I like her a lot better than your previous girlfriends, so I'm all for you going for the gold!" With one last chuckle, Phil disappeared from sight, climbing back down into Arnold's room.

Arnold flumped down on the ground with a sigh—whether it was a sigh of relief or disappointment was hard to tell. "Oh God…"

"That was the first time I've ever heard you swear," said Helga. "I mean, when you said 'shit'."

"I was caught off-guard, it happens…" Arnold shrugged, still looking completely taken aback. "Listen, Helga… none of that just happened, right?"

"None of what?" said Helga, sitting down next to him. "We were just stargazing, right?"

"Right."

They both laid down and looked up at the night sky, neither saying anything for a few minutes.

Finally Helga broke the silence. "You find this _relaxing? _You mean _boring, _right?"

"I mean relaxing," smiled Arnold. "I like to look for constellations, or make up my own."

"You can hardly see any stars at all in the middle of the city, football head," muttered Helga.

"That's not true. See, there's a few up there that we can see. In fact, I think that might be Orion."

"Impossible. It's too early for Orion. That's a winter constellation."

"But I do see it. The three stars there that are his belt, see? Right up there?" Arnold made a motion towards the sky.

"I think you're seeing things."

"I'm seeing _lots _of things."

"Like what?" Helga asked, turning her head to the side to see what he was looking at… and was surprised to see that he was looking at her.

"I'm seeing your blonde roots, for one thing. And your black hair dye coming out. What color are you going to dye it next?"

"I don't know if I am going to dye it."

Arnold's eyes widened in surprise.

Helga smiled at him. "I've been wanting something different, and, well, blonde's different. I haven't been blonde for over two years now. Then I might go red and green for Christmas, though. Big Bob would totally flip. You know, maybe I _should _dye my hair now. Just to annoy him."

"Why would you want do to that?"

"Arnold, Arnold, Arnold. I've been cooperating with him for weeks now regarding the whole 'taking over the family business' thing. I think he's getting worried about me. I need to show at least some of my usual difficult self to him, otherwise he'll think I'm sick or something."

"Well, you could keep your hair blonde, but… get a different hairstyle. Like, a mohawk or something."

"Arnold, darling, that's brilliant!" said Helga enthusiastically. "He's always going off about how my hair shouldn't look like a cotton candy stand and I should just stick with my own, naturally given color—and I will be! He won't be able to fault me for that anymore! I'll have to see which he'll like better—weird colors, or a mohawk."

"Look," sighed Arnold, "you can do whatever you want with your hair, but all I ask is that if you get in trouble for this, don't blame me."

"Blame you? I'll be thanking you! I _want _to get in trouble!"

"Then…" Arnold smiled slyly. "Then why did you button up your shirt so fast?"

"Do you want me to unbutton it again?" Helga asked levelly.

Arnold shook his head. "No, that's okay. I just want to stargaze tonight."

"Oh, me too," said Helga seriously, but still keeping her gaze fixated on Arnold rather than the sky and stars above.

"Then maybe you should look up," said Arnold softly.

"Your eyes, my love, shine brighter than the most brilliant star, with the light and depth of your beautiful soul. They shame the celestial bodies, which cannot hope to compare. And how lucky I am to bask in them, how lucky I am to have you focus them entirely on me."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"_That. _That whole… poetry thing. You can just rattle it off without even thinking. I couldn't come up with something like that even if I spent a week trying. How do you do it?"

Helga shrugged. "I don't know. I just look at you or think about you and it comes out."

"It's amazing."

"_You're _amazing. I mean, really, how does that huge heart of yours fit in your small frame?"

They both smiled gently at each other, their eyes locked, making no attempt to look up at the night sky anymore.

"I really liked the poem you gave me today," Arnold said, adjusting his position so that he was now laying on his side. He reached out and touched Helga's hand. "Especially the part about my 'idiotic kindness' being your 'foolhardy joy'."

"Foolhardy joy'?" Helga repeated. "No, I changed that to 'one and only joy'. Foolhardy was a better word, but it didn't flow as well."

"You didn't change it. The poem I got this morning definitely said foolhardy."

"I know what I wrote, football head, and while that might have been the original word, I _changed _it… wait a minute." Helga bit her lip. _"Did _I change it?"

"You didn't, and I can prove it." Arnold abruptly stood up and made his way to his skylight, climbing back down into his room.

"Where are you going?" Helga asked, climbing to her feet as well.

"I'm getting the poem you wrote!" Arnold called back.

"Stashed in your book bag someplace?" Helga said, climbing the ladder into Arnold's room as well. To her surprise, though, he wasn't looking through his book bag. Instead, he had a three-ringed notebook in his hands, open to a page with two different slips of paper taped to it.

Arnold smiled at her. "No, I tape the poems you leave me in this notebook as soon as I get them. And here's today's, and it definitely says 'foolhardy'."

"You've been keeping them all? I mean, in an organized way?" Helga asked.

"Of course," said Arnold. "I like them and I don't want to risk losing them."

Helga sighed happily, feeling her heart melt again. "Arnold, that's so ridiculous and sweet and romantic and you're too good to be true and…" Looking at another book laying on his desk, though, the praises abruptly stopped. "And what the hell is _THAT _doing here?"

_That _being nothing more than a small, pink book.

Both Arnold and Helga lunged for it at the same time, but Helga managed to get it first. "I don't know how you got this, but _burn it! _Burn it like I burned all the rest of them!" Helga screeched.

"Come on, Helga, don't you remember?" Arnold said, jumping up in vain efforts to snatch the book out of Helga's hands (for Helga was holding it high above her head). "I found it the first week of fourth grade! And then you tore out the last page and made it into a spitball!"

"Oh yeah," said Helga thoughtfully. "You're right. I'd almost forgotten. Good thing I did that, too, because I actually _signed _the last page." Her tone immediately went back to its irritated growl from before. "But whatever. This pile of dog crap should have been burned out of its misery years ago!"

"They're not crap! There's some good poems in there!"

"_Good poems? _I was _nine, _for Pete's sake! What the fuck did I know about good poetry?"

"Look, they're not amazing, I'll give you that," Arnold quickly said. "But considering you _were _only nine when you wrote them, they're actually really… look, just give it back, alright?"

"No, it's mine, so I'm taking what's rightfully mine."

"Actually, Helga… they're _mine. _You said so yourself in the dedication."

"_What?" _Helga quickly flipped open the book to the first page and read the first poem. "…Oh. Well, forget what I wrote _then, _just pay attention to what I'm saying _now!"_

"I want those back! I won't let you burn them!" Arnold lunged up in the air for the book.

"Back off!" shrieked Helga.

But Arnold's sudden movement towards her caused her to lose her balance, and she fell with another shriek onto his bed, Arnold clumsily toppling right on top of her.

They both froze, staring at each other unblinking for a good five seconds, before Helga broke the silence with a deep, shaky breath, her rising chest pushing against Arnold's on top of her.

Arnold managed to get a hold of his breathing sooner than Helga. He smiled gently at her, lightly touching her lips with his finger. "May I please have the book now?"

"Fuck you," Helga murmured.

"What?"

"I said…" Helga smiled too. "You'll have to kiss me for it."

Helga wasn't so much surprised that he did it. What surprised her was how _quickly _he did it. The words had only just barely left her mouth when it was covered by his.

They'd been dating for about a month now. She should have been used to this.

And yet every time they kissed, it felt like the first time. Every time her heart seemed to stop. Every time she felt as though she was being shown heaven for a few moments. Every time she felt herself fall even more in love with him, as impossible as that seemed.

He pulled away. His kisses never lasted very long, yet they were always long enough to turn her into Jell-O.

"You win," she conceded, bringing her arms (still above her head) down and handing him the book.

"Thanks." Arnold took it from her and set it down on his end table without a second thought, remaining on top of Helga but supporting his upper weight with his elbows propped on his mattress.

"They're so terrible…" Helga tried to give the book a discouraging look but kept finding that her gaze was getting pulled back to Arnold. "I can write so much better now."

"They're not terrible," said Arnold with a smile, "but even if you think so, then let them serve as your yardstick of improvement."

"Hmm, yeah, good point, my love," said Helga, leaning up and giving Arnold a quick kiss. "If I'm ever a world-famous author, my biographers will want to see where I started from." She laughed at that, a little harshly.

"Of course they will," said Arnold, a bit confused at Helga's harshness. "Why do you think they wouldn't?"

"I just said that they _would, _football head."

"But you didn't sound like you meant it."

"I meant _that _part. It's the whole 'becoming a famous author' thing I'm not so sure of."

"What are you talking about? Your poetry is amazing. You're going to be famous someday."

Helga sighed. "You're sweet, Arnold, but you're also mistaken. Even if I was talented enough to get published, nobody reads poetry anymore. I'm already washed up and I haven't even attempted to get published yet."

Arnold laid down by Helga's side, looking up again at the stars through his skylight. "You should still try, though," he said after a few moments.

"Or I could save time and just walk in there and ask them to completely belittle me," muttered Helga, also looking up at the sky. "It'd take a lot less effort and generate the exact same effect."

"But you shouldn't just give up on your dream like that."

"It's not my only dream." Her voice there was barely audible.

Arnold turned his head to the side to look at her again, but her gaze was still fixed skyward—and thankfully so, because Arnold worried that if she did see his face, she'd read the uncertainty he was sure was evident on it. No, actually, uncertainty wasn't the best word. He was absolutely certain of the important things, at least. He loved just talking with her like this. She was intelligent, she was witty, and when they conversed he felt not only that he was getting to know her better, but he was getting to know _himself _better. And yet, at the same time, coupled with his desire to talk with her, he had an equally strong desire to touch her boobs.

What kind of impression did he want to give her, anyway?

Okay, sure, so he was a fifteen-year-old male. But still. That didn't mean his hormones had to get so fired up whenever he was close to her. Especially considering that he considered her much more than just a pair of breasts. He had a little more class than that. And besides, pretty much every girl had breasts. What was it about _hers _that were so tempting? Was it just the fact that they were, well, _hers?_

He had enjoyed talking and spending time with other people before. And he had been distracted by boobs before. But never both at once, and never had either seemingly conflicting urge been so strong, either.

"Not… your only dream?" Arnold finally asked, making himself look back up at the sky.

"I have others. Plenty of others." Her voice faltered. "Well, maybe not _plenty… _but becoming the beeper queen is a pretty good alternative."

"Well, I still think you should go for your dream. You're more talented than you give yourself credit for."

"Fine, football head, I won't give up just yet," Helga muttered, although it was more of a way to keep him off the subject. Truthfully, she knew that she had a writing talent. She would have had to have been completely blind to herself to not know that. It wasn't vanity or ego speaking; Helga simply knew that writing poetry was what she did best, and, well, she had many years of practice under her belt.

What scared her was when she got close. Close enough to almost be able to reach out and touch her dream, and then at the last second have all her hopes dashed. Far better to not get her hopes up at all, right? Stupid of her for flirting with disaster. And yet that's just what she was doing. How many aspiring writers actually got published? And, like she told Arnold, poetry was not a popular genre at all. If you wanted to be a published poet, you had to be damn good. Helga knew she was good… but she wasn't _that _good.

Arnold was one of her other dreams. Heck, he was THE other dream. And again, he was so close. Not just physically close, but emotionally, mentally… everything-ly. It wasn't just the fact that he was laying so close to her, it was that he _wanted _to be next to her. It was that he had freely… well, nearly freely kissed her… sure, so she had put the idea in his head, but he could have very well said no. It was that he always gazed at her with a look from him she recognized, but one he had never directed at _her _before.

As much as she had hoped, prayed, dreamed that she would get this close to him… she had never really thought it would actually happen.

And now she was _too _close. Every rational cell in her body screamed at her to run away from him before she got even closer, because the closer she got the harder she'd fall. And she would fall. He didn't love her, and even if he did… even if he did, how many high school romances lasted, anyway? Oh, sure, she'd always love him, but it wasn't just a high school romance on her part. She'd loved him for twelve years now; it wasn't going away. She'd tried that already, and look how successful _that _was.

_Stop worrying. Stop worrying and just enjoy this while it lasts. _But how could she enjoy what would ultimately emotionally destroy her?

_Don't think about that!_

"What about you?" she said, hoping that her voice didn't sound as forced to him as it did to her. "Do you have any pie-in-the-sky dreams?"

"I don't know…" Arnold's voice trailed off as he searched for something to say. "I guess I just don't know what I want to do with my life yet."

"Oh, come on. You must have some idea."

"I have a general idea… whatever it is I do, I want to be helping people. But I haven't figured out where, or how, or what I'll be doing to help them."

"Well, _that _answer was obvious. And yet terribly vague. Pretty much every job helps people in some way. Even if you wanted to be a poet, like me, you'd be helping people get in touch with their inner angst." They both chuckled. "But you're talking about something way bigger than your everyday, ordinary helpful job, I know. You're talking about the Peace Corps or the like."

"I've actually thought a lot about the Peace Corps," Arnold admitted. "Because that is pretty much what I want to do… except…"

"Except what?' Helga asked.

Arnold sighed. "I dunno… it sounds really selfish of me, but I just… I'm not sure I would be able to handle being away form home for so long. You know, away from friends and family. It would just be…" He sighed again. "It just sounds so selfish."

"Are you kidding? It doesn't sound selfish at all," Helga said, surprised at Arnold's guilt. "You have an amazing life here—minus my presence in it, of course. Who _wouldn't _want to stay? You can still do humanitarian stuff here. There's plenty of people here who need help, too. You don't have to go anywhere."

"I know, but… there's something of my parents in me, I guess, some sort of explorer gene that makes me want to go farther and farther away… I couldn't do that, though," he said quickly. "It wouldn't be fair to my family, to my friends… to _you…"_

"_Me?" _Helga turned her head and stared at him. "What the hell do I have to do with any of this? It's _your _future. I'm just your high school girlfriend—_one _of your high school girlfriends. A year from now I'll probably be another one of your _ex-_girlfriends."

Arnold sat up a bit in surprise. "What makes you say—"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not trivializing our relationship," Helga quickly clarified. She bit her lip. Damn, she hadn't meant to drop this worry on him. Oh well, it was probably for the best. A realistic perspective on things was good. "It's just that, come on, how many people who date in high school actually end up together for the long run? I'm not your first girlfriend; you're not my first boyfriend. And, granted, my feelings for you will never change. I love you more than life itself; you're my lighthouse in the stormiest of nights, my… well, you know. I'm not going to change, but you _are. _You're going to keep moving on to bigger and better things and eventually you'll move past me, too. I don't want to stand in your way, and… and criminy, this is coming out _terrible."_

Arnold sat up completely this time, pulling his knees close to his body and leaning his arms and head against them. "Look, Helga, let's not map out the future right now, okay? If I really am going to leave you and the entire city behind, I'd like to live in the moment right now and enjoy every second of it while I can."

Helga remained on her back on the bed, unable to do anything but gaze at Arnold, in that pose, with those words coming out of his mouth… _how can you possibly be so beautiful?_

He shifted his head slightly and gazed at her, too.

"I swear," Helga finally murmured, "I'd think this was all a dream, but even my dreams are never this amazing."

"It must be real, then," smiled Arnold, reaching down and stroking her cheek softly.

"Stop," breathed Helga, "you're making it worse…"

"Making what worse?"

"When I wake up from this dream… every wonderful thing you do to me will make it worse when I have to go back to reality…"

Arnold looked up at the sky. "Reality is overrated."

Helga sighed happily. "You can say that again," she said, pulling him on top of her again and kissing him.

Even if this was just a dream… well, like Arnold said, might as well enjoy it while it lasts, right?


	10. Chapter 10

"I must say, Helga, I find your hair ever so… _interesting."_

Helga smirked. "What's so interesting about it? It's just blue. I've had blue hair before. Arnold suggested getting a mohawk, but I wanted to dye my hair for homecoming next week."

Lila gave Helga a confused look. "But Helga, our school colors are black and gold."

Helga rolled her eyes. _"Doi, _Lila. I know that. That's why I wanted to dye my hair _blue. _I'm still trying to get Arnold to dye his hair green or something, but he won't do it." She looked up thoughtfully. "I suppose that's alright, though. How I love those unruly blonde locks of his."

It was the next Friday, a day that every student had been looking forward to—due to teacher inservice, classes ended at noon. With an entire free afternoon at their fingertips, Arnold, Gerald, Helga, and Lila were going to go to the arcade, the park, any and every fast-food place they could think of… anywhere but school.

Lila and Helga were waiting by the doors on the south side of the school, where the four of them had agreed to meet after school. Helga wore an air of confidence about her that day, probably brought on by her new hair color and the stares she had received all day because of it. Lila, whose auburn hair was in its usual braids, still didn't seem completely accustomed to the change.

"Well, gosh, Helga," she said uncertainly, "I suppose that if you want to dye your hair blue, that's entirely your own choice…"

"Damn straight it is," said Helga with a smirk. "But after homecoming I might go back to being blonde for awhile. No, really. I want to shock people, and I think at this point in the game my natural hair color would be more of a shock than purple hair or whatever."

"That would be nice," smiled Lila. "Your natural hair color is very pretty."

Helga rolled her eyes. "Alright, never mind then. The last thing I want to do is look pretty."

Gerald came running up to the two girls. "I think we might have a problem, ladies," he said in lieu of a greeting.

"You mean besides the fact that you're here?" Helga asked, only half-jokingly. As wonderful as dating Arnold was, it was still a bit of a struggle to hang out with his other friends, especially Gerald, with whom she still butted heads.

Gerald frowned at her. _"Seriously, _Helga. Arnold got pulled out of class eighth period."

"Psychology?" Lila asked.

"What for?" Helga demanded.

"I have no idea," said Gerald. "All I know is that right as class started, Mrs. Haskell came in and said she needed to see him, and he never came back. And I just checked by his locker, and he wasn't there, either."

"Mrs. Haskell? That's the secretary from the main office, right?" Helga asked.

"Perhaps, if we want to know where Arnold went to, we should ask her," Lila offered.

"_Brilliant _plan, Sherlock," Helga muttered.

"I certainly hope that it isn't anything serious… hey, wait!" Lila called out, for both Gerald and Helga had already started quickly making their way to the office.

"I'm thinking it was all part of an elaborate plan of his," said Gerald, giving Helga a jab in the side with his elbow. "When he saw your hair this morning, he decided he had to come up with some way to get out of being seen with you this afternoon."

"Har-dee-har-_har. _I'll have you know that Arnold likes my hair no matter what color it is. He told me so himself."

"His stupefied stare and inability to say anything positive about it for a good minute told _me _how he really feels about your amazing Technicolor dream hair."

"My hair shocks and mesmerizes! It was a perfectly natural reaction, Geraldo!"

"I do wish you two would stop fighting," Lila said helplessly, having finally managed to catch up to them.

"Considering we have nothing in common…" Gerald mumbled.

"You have plenty in common," Lila countered sternly. "Arnold, for one thing."

"That's different," Gerald snapped. "I'm his best friend. Helga's just his psycho girlfriend with cotton candy hair."

"_Just _his girlfriend?" Helga yelped angrily. "What, so a dating relationship doesn't include getting close and knowing and considering your significant other as a _friend _as much as a romantic interest? I shudder to think of what the ex-girlfriends in your wake had to put up with!"

"Now listen here—" Gerald began harshly.

Lila, in a rare show of physical force, pushed ahead of both of them and opened the door to the office. "Mrs. Haskell?" she called out politely to the secretary. "We were wondering if you could help us."

Mrs. Haskell looked at the three students questioningly. "Well, I'll see what I can do. What's the trouble?"

"We need to know where Arnold went," said Gerald.

Mrs. Haskell cocked an eyebrow. "Arnold?"

"Don't give us that," Helga snapped. "You know. Arnold Short. The football head. The only Arnold in this school."

"Helga, _please," _chided Lila. Turning back to Mrs. Haskell, she said, "We were supposed to meet him after school today, so we'd like to know where he is."

"Oh," said Mrs. Haskell. "Well, he had a family emergency and had to leave."

"Family emergency?" asked Lila.

"What kind of family emergency?" Gerald demanded.

"What _happened?" _Helga asked frantically.

"I'm not at liberty to—"

"Oh, don't give us _that _song and dance!" Helga cried in exasperation.

"We don't care about breeches of privacy," Gerald said angrily. "We're his best friends. Whatever kind of family emergency he's having, we'll be the first to know regardless."

"And it would be ever so helpful if we knew where he was so we could offer him our support for whatever it is," Lila added.

Mrs. Haskell sighed in resignation. "Look, I don't really know much more about it myself. All I know is that his grandmother had a stroke and is in the hospital."

"His _grandma?" _cried Gerald.

"A _stroke?" _cried Helga.

"The _hospital?" _cried Lila.

"I don't even know which hospital," Mrs. Haskell admitted. "His grandpa called the school and talked to him, and we allowed Arnold to leave class and take the bus."

"They're probably at Mercy Hospital," said Gerald quickly, heading for the door. "That's the one closest to the boarding house."

"But will they let us in to see them?" Lila asked. "I mean, we're not family."

"We'll _make _them let us in," Helga growled.

…

The residents of Sunset Arms were uncharacteristically quiet sitting in the hospital, almost all of them looking intently at the closed door, where the muffled sounds of the doctors and nurses treating Gertie only just barely filtered through and reached their ears.

Only Arnold wasn't looking at the door, instead staring forlornly at his feet, his hands resting on his knees… and yet not feeling them. He wasn't feeling much of anything, actually, his entire body still numb from shock. He felt no nervousness, no sadness, no worry, no anger… some defense mechanism in his body had decided to completely shut off all feelings.

It was not silent in that wing of the hospital, but the boarders could still hear the ticking of the clock.

"It's over!" Oskar Kokoshka finally cried out. "They've been in there too long! She's a goner!"

"_Oskar!" _Suzie Kokoshka hissed to her husband. "There's still a chance she'll pull through! There's always a chance!"

"Yeah, she's a tough ol' bird!" Ernie Potts said optimistically.

"Bird?" Mr. Hyunh asked in confusion. "She is not a bird! She doesn't have wings!"

"Oh, would you people just shut up?" Phil snapped at them in irritation.

It became silent again for a few moments.

The silence was broken when two nurses made their way down the hallway. "I've never seen anything like that," the first said to the second.

"Imagine three kids trying to get into this area without clearance!" the second said.

"Especially one with _blue hair," _said the first.

Of all the things to shake Arnold out of his numbness, it was the phrase "blue hair" that did it. "Wait," he said, lifting his head up.

The two nurses looked at him.

"Let them in. They're my friends."

"You have a friend with blue hair?" Suzie asked in surprise.

"That's Helga. And I'm guessing the other two with her are Gerald and Lila."

"I thought Helga had black hair," said Phil, giving Arnold a questioning look.

"She dyed it. Just last night, I guess. It's…" Arnold tried to find a diplomatic way of describing Helga's new shade. "It's different," he finally said with a helpless shrug.

"I know I said I like her better than your past girlfriends, but now…" Phil actually smiled for a second or so. "Now I like her _ten times _better than your past girlfriends."

The two nurses looked at each other, shrugged, and went back down the hallway.

"Are you sure letting them in is a good idea?" Ernie asked.

Arnold sighed. "If they want in, they'll find a way in with permission or not. Helga and Gerald will, at least. We might as well let them in peacefully, right?"

It wasn't long before footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway again, except this time they were running… and sure enough, Helga, Gerald, and Lila rounded the corner, Lila looking as though she was struggling to keep up.

"Stupid security! Of COURSE we're his friends! Why would we want to see some sick person in the hospital if we didn't even know them?"

"Gerald, I'm ever so certain that security must be an important issue at hospitals—"

"Screw the security! Arnold, darling, are you alright?"

"Yeah, how's your grandma?"

"Is it serious?"

"Is she okay?"

"Where is she?"

"GUYS!" Arnold shouted forcefully. Helga, Gerald, and Lila all immediately shut their mouths.

"She's in there," sighed Arnold listlessly, pointing at the door. "Now could you please be quiet?"

"But is she…" Lila started.

"I don't know, okay?" Arnold muttered. "Look, I'm sorry… I'm sorry for snapping at you, but please…"

"Do you want us to leave?" Lila asked gently.

Arnold looked at them, the same thought that Gerald had vocalized earlier hitting him like a ton of bricks. They were all so _different _from each other. And yet there they were, all three of them, together, with the same expression of worry and concern on each of their faces. There was something freaky and yet at the same time comforting that these three completely different people, his three best friends, had banded together for him.

He shook his head. "No, I want you to stay, but please… just don't say anything. Don't say _much _of anything." He looked back down at the ground.

And thus, he didn't see them look at each other… or rather, Gerald and Lila look at Helga and, without moving, motion her with their eyes towards him.

He felt her before he saw her, as her hand hesitantly touched his as she sat down next to him. He looked up at her in surprise, and she returned his look with a sympathetic gaze, bringing her free hand up to stroke his hair.

Somehow, it became easier for him to breathe. He gave her hand a light squeeze. "Thanks," he murmured.

Gerald and Lila quietly sat on the other side of Arnold, and the four kids were silent for a few moments.

"Thank you… all of you, for being here," Arnold finally said, looking back at Helga, then to Gerald and Lila on his other side, and then back at the ground… that is, _attempting _to look back at the ground. The shocking blue of Helga's hair, however, was still a sight he was not accustomed to, and he found his eyes were drawn more to her hair than to the ground.

"You really hate my hair, don't you?" Helga said.

"No, I don't…" Arnold felt himself try to smile, although he wasn't sure how successful the end result looked to her. "Actually… I love it."

"You love… it." Her voice was light, soft, and yet he heard her clearly. "Well," she said, her voice a little louder, "if you want some time alone with my hair, I'm not about to stand between a beautiful relationship…"

Arnold smiled for real that time, and actually let out a small laugh. "I like your hair because it's _your _hair," he said, squeezing her hand again.

The sound of an opening door brought everyone's eyes off the ground or Helga's hair and towards the doctor softly stepping out into the waiting area. "Mr. Short?" he said.

Phil stood up.

The doctor's face looked professional, yet apologetic. "I'm sorry. We did everything we could."

And suddenly, Arnold's body grew rigid again.

"Oh my… I'm sorry, Arnold," said Gerald softly.

"Me too, ever so much," murmured Lila.

Helga said nothing, merely stroking his hand again.

Arnold hardly heard or felt any of it, however.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a weird funeral. As per Gertie's written requests in her will, the sanctuary was decorated with pink and yellow streamers, and Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust" played on loop as the (mostly very confused) mourners filed in. Obviously, Arnold reflected to himself, this was something his grandmother had specified before their trip to San Lorenzo—but still, he could remember one night after that trip, with his bedroom door open a crack and hearing his grandparents go over their wills—"Wow, these were some crazy ideas I came up with!" "You want to throw them out, Pookie?" "Nah, leave 'em in. If there's one thing I can't stand it's a sad, boring funeral." It felt strange to have the old Grandma suddenly come alive again—only _after _she had physically died.

"Wherever you are, Grandma, I know you're laughing," Arnold had said during his short eulogy. All of the residents of the boarding house gave "eulogies", but Gertie's will had encouraged them to make them a little out of the ordinary. To quote: "Recite some epic poetry, do an interpretive dance, sing a song—but not a sappy song—do fingerpainting on the church walls, just have fun with it!" Oskar had actually taken up the fingerpainting suggestion, giving his memories and last words of respect for Gertie at the same time. "I will miss Grandma's cooking! And her sense of humor! And her cooking! And the way she'd always tell me to shut up! And her cooking! Did I mention her cooking?" By that time his painting resembled a chocolate cake if you held your head just right.

She was cremated, and in a bizarre, and yet still fitting with her final wishes, move, her ashes were randomly dumped out of the moving car as it drove to a dance hall, where the "reception" of sorts was being held. A reception with a live polka band, along with roast pig as if it were a luau.

Most of the mourners, understandably, were a little confused, to put it gently. However, both Phil and Arnold did their part going around to all the guests and being cheerfully irreverent, signaling to all that this was no ordinary funeral.

"More pineapple, Gerald?" Phil asked, holding out a dish of pineapple kabobs while the polka band cheerfully played the "Too Fat Polka" in the background.

Gerald recoiled a little bit in his wicker chair, his friend Kevin in the chair right next to him reflecting his nonplussed reaction. "Eh, no thanks, Phil, I'm saving room for the pig."

Across the table, Helga, Lila, and Phoebe were also attempting to make sense of the bizarre juxtaposition of mourning and partying. "This coconut juice is ever so… unique," Lila said as politely as she could. "I've never quite had anything like it before…"

"And hopefully never will again, right?" Helga said, raising her eyebrow. She had actually dressed conservatively that day, although thanks to her blue hair she still stood out… and yet fit in with the strange nature of the reception more than anyone else there. "Can't I just grab a glass of water to drink?"

"Sure you can!" said Phil. "There's water pitchers back in the kitchen. There should be some avocado juice back there as well!"

Helga made a face of disgust. "I'll pass."

…

In another section of the reception, Arnold found himself having to play waiter to a particularly pushy elderly woman named Margot Fisher, who was one of the few surviving classmates of his grandmother's who appeared to show her last respects. In fact, she was one of two. The other, a tiny, frail woman named Edna Figgins, was half blind, nearly completely deaf, and seemed to be unable to stay awake for more than one minute at a time. Margot, with all the grace and breeding of a cranky old lady, did nothing but complain about the poke dish and saimin, demanding Arnold to bring her something more appetizing—but nothing too hard or crunchy, those dentures weren't up to the task like they had been ten years go. Arnold agreed to find her something, not that that was his job (because it wasn't), and not that he even expected to find more normal food anyway. But anything to get away for a few minutes.

He retreated to the kitchen and politely asked the workers if there were any packages of cookies or granola bars he could bring to a… um, "friend" of his grandmother's.

"We don't have anything out right now," said one of the cooks, who had somehow managed to set up the facilities to roast a pig in his indoor midcity kitchen, "but there might be some in the backroom." He motioned towards a door that said "STAFF ONLY".

"Thanks," said Arnold. He walked into the room and shut the door behind him, although the polka band cheerfully playing music was still reaching his ears clearly.

He wanted to rip apart that accordion.

"Shit," he whispered to himself, slumping down against the wall and onto the floor, pressing his face into his hands in an attempt to stop his tears.

What the hell were they _doing, _anyway?

A luau, for a _funeral? _This wasn't the time or place. Everyone looked ill at ease, not sure how to feel. Of course they didn't know how to feel! You don't wear leis at funerals. You don't hold limbo competitions at funerals. You don't make the funeral out to be a _joke. _Grandma had only wanted this at one point in time, but she had changed since then; certainly she understood by then the grief that comes with the death of a loved one! Why couldn't she have changed her will and made her funeral more, well, like a _funeral? _Funerals weren't meant for the person who died. They were meant to comfort the ones still alive, the ones left behind and grieving. And how on earth were you supposed to cope with your loss with a luau, polka band, and avocado juice?

Arnold shook with tears, the first time he had cried since his grandmother's death, his efforts to hide them slowly fading.

How could he even pretend to be happy out there? His grandma had just died, for Pete's sake! She had been the equivalent of his _mother! _And what a way to show your grief at her death—by eating pineapple and doing a jig. Why were they _doing _this?

"Don't give me that! I know this is the weirdest funeral in the history of the universe and nothing's here that should be, but there must at _least _be a pitcher of water here somewhere!"

Arnold looked up at the closed door in horror. That was Helga's voice. And he sure didn't want anyone to find him, the bastion of cheer and good feelings, curled up in the back storage room of a kitchen crying with both grief over his grandmother's death and anger at her for wanting such a stupid funeral and reception at all.

"Well, we might have some cans of soda in the storage room…"

"_Room-temperature soda? _That's _it?"_

"Well, that and avocado juice…"

"Fine! Beggars can't be choosers!" She swung open the door and slammed it shut, muttering to herself, "What a load of… _Arnold?"_

Arnold looked up at her, part of him wishing she hadn't found him, but the other, and rapidly-growing in intensity part, utterly grateful that she had.

"Helga," he choked out, giving in, "…I _want _you."

Ambiguous statement, yes. Vague, yes. But Helga knew what he meant, and before either of them knew it, she was down on her knees next to him, her arms wrapped around his body and cradling him comfortingly.

"My poor, sweet angel," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair as he buried his head into her shoulder. "How you could manage your cheerful, radiant smile even this long through this tragedy I'll never know. But your heart is pure, good, and caring, and so it must also be fragile. My brave, brave darling, putting on a strong face for everyone else… don't be ashamed to cry, love, I'm here… I'll make it all better…" Her voice trailed off, but when she spoke again it grew a little rougher, as if she was trying to hold back tears of her own. "Words fail me. Words cannot right your peril. Words cannot do you justice." She gently kissed his forehead.

"It's alright," Arnold said with a sniffle, looking in her eyes. "I just want you to hold me right now."

"Gladly, darling," said Helga with a tiny fraction of a smile, leaning in and pressing her forehead against his, stroking his hair rhythmically.

They both closed their eyes and simply leaned against each other for a few moments, saying nothing and yet saying everything silently between each other… with a big box of crackers behind Arnold's left elbow, rows of spaghetti sauce in red cans offsetting Helga's blue hair, the sounds of the polka band now playing their rendition of Jimmy Buffett's "Cheeseburger in Paradise" still clearly filtering through the closed door, the head chef yelling at his staff, "Yes, we have to roast the _whole pig! _This is a _luau!"_

And Arnold exhaled sharply, a noise that at first sounded more like a sob, but the noises grew into first strained, then more assured, and finally full-blown laughter.

Helga opened her eyes and stared at him incredulously. "What is so funny?"

"_This," _laughed Arnold, his laughter hardly subsiding enough for him to speak. "Just… _this! _This is the most ridiculous combination of circumstances _ever! _And here I was mad that we had to do all this crazy stuff for Grandma—but this is the only way we _should _have done it! All of this is exactly what Grandma in the old days would have done—and that's the Grandma I want to remember, and that's what we're doing." He moved a hand to his face and brushed away his tears of laughter.

"Well… when you put it that way…" Helga's voice faded off just as, accompanied by the oom-pahs of his band, the singer of the polka band shouted out, "I like mine with lettuce and tomatah!"

"Thanks," smiled Arnold.

"What did I do?" Helga asked in surprise.

"_Everything. _Starting with dyeing your hair blue and… and just knowing the right balance between paying your respects and having fun… and for being here," he added softly, moving her hand to his mouth and kissing her palm.

Helga drew in her breath, and Arnold looked up at her and smiled before kissing her again.

"I swear, Arnold," Helga breathed, "you are going to drive me absolutely stark-raving _mad _one of these days… who am I kidding, you already _have…"_

"I'm just getting back at you for torturing me as a kid," smirked Arnold, still trailing her palm with kisses, making his way to her wrist.

"Payback's a bitch," gasped Helga, arching her back involuntarily. "I never realized this area of my body was so sensitive…" She took in another sharp breath and moaned, closing her eyes. "I love you. I love you so much I feel like I'm about to burst. It can't be healthy to feel this much emotion for any one person… my _darling, _my _dearest, _holy _shit _how I love you…"

By this point Arnold was focused on both her hands, not letting up on his kissing because the more he kissed her, the more she said those things; and also, the more he _himself _liked it, the more he _himself _felt compelled to say the very same things back to her.

No… what if he wasn't actually in love with her? He was sad and grieving, that's all, and grateful to her for comforting him, and just completely compelled to kiss not just her hands but the rest of her, too, and…

They were in a food storage room during a polka/luau funeral. Now wasn't the time.

He slid her arms around his neck. "We should probably go back out there," he said.

Helga finally seemed able to exhale. "Criminy," she murmured, "to think I went back here just for a glass of water."

"Sorry about the trade-off," said Arnold with a small shrug.

"Oh, don't even suggest that this was any sort of inconvenience…" Helga gently pressed her forehead against Arnold's again. "Are you alright now? Relatively speaking?"

"Yes," smiled Arnold. "You _did _make it all better."

"I didn't even _do _anything."

"No, you did _everything."_

"Isn't that how we started this whole thing before?" Helga said softly. She touched his lips with her index finger. "You're right, we should head back. I don't want one of the chefs barging in on us if we're just going to head back down that road again."

"No, that would be awkward. Besides, Mrs. Fisher's probably about ready to rip my head off for being so late in bringing her normal food."

"You should let the staff here do that, that's their job," said Helga.

"I'm trying to be nice and friendly," said Arnold, shrugging and climbing to his feet.

Helga followed him. "Wow, that _must _be a stretch for you," she said sarcastically. They both chuckled.

Arnold opened the door back out to the kitchen. "Seriously, Helga… thanks for everything."

"Really, it was nothing…" Helga reached out and stroked his cheek. "My brave, dear soul… if only you knew how much I love you…"

She left the storage room and went back out into the main hall, Arnold watching her with the sensation of pins pricking his stomach…

…there was something about her he was missing, but he couldn't quite figure out just what that was.

…

"Phoebe, what are you hanging around here for?"

Phoebe smiled at Helga, who was balancing stacks of dirty dishes in her hands. "I could ask you the same question."

"And I'd tell you that it's _obvious _what I'm doing—I'm helping get this place cleaned up." Helga motioned with her elbow as best she could to the reception hall, now mostly empty but still with streamers, leis, and dirty dishes scattered throughout. "There's a lot of stuff that still needs to get cleaned up, and I'm being—I know this is a shocker from me—polite and helpful and pitching in to help get it all done. While _you _stand by the door and stare at your sleeves."

"Oh, gosh, Helga, you're right, I'm sorry," Phoebe said quickly. "Let me help you with those."

"About time." Helga passed off a stack of dirty dishes to Phoebe with a sly smirk. "Besides, Gerald will be back soon enough."

The dishes in Phoebe's hands shifted suddenly and unsteadily. "Gerald? What—what do you mean by that?"

Helga rolled her eyes. "Come on, Feebs. He stepped out to get some non-Hawaiian snacks and you've been hovering by the door ever since. You don't have to stay here. The 'party''s over. You can go home now."

"So can you," smiled Phoebe.

"I have a good reason for being here," said Helga, kicking open the door to the kitchen. "I'm helping get things cleaned up. But you're just waiting for Gerald to come back."

"I am not _just _waiting for him to come back—I mean—that is to say—erm…" Phoebe's voice trailed off as her face flushed.

"For God's sake, Phoebe, just ask him out already."

"Ask him out? At a _funeral? _You must be—I mean—that's hardly appropriate!"

"Practically everything that's happened today has been completely inappropriate for a funeral. Now would be a _great _time to ask him out, actually."

"But—but I don't have time to date!"

"Don't give me that. Do you know how little time Arnold and I spend together? Neither of us has much in the way of spare time either, and yet we're still dating."

"But I still can't—"

"Listen, Phoebe," Helga interrupted, "all I'm saying is that there's something severely out of balance with the world when Arnold and I are dating, yet you and Gerald aren't."

"I… I don't quite understand what you're trying to say."

"You've _always _liked him, and he's _always _liked you! And yet all you've done all these years is just exchange looks between the two of you! Come on. If you're afraid of rejection, you're a complete loon. You two are like ninety-five percent a couple already. Just make it official!"

"You really think I should… ask him?" Phoebe asked in a small voice.

"Abso-diddly-lutely. He's not dating anyone, you're not dating anyone, and you couldn't keep your eyes off of each other at all today. Don't drag this out longer than _I _dragged out _my _feelings—believe me, you don't want that."

"Well, I… maybe you're right, maybe I should—"

The sound of footsteps cut off Phoebe's statement, and both girls turned their heads to look out the opening into the main hall. But it wasn't Gerald—it was Arnold, Lila, and Kevin heading towards the door.

"False alarm," said Helga. "But don't worry, we'll hear when he comes in because of the shrieks of joy when he brings actual normal food."

"Actually," said Phoebe, "I found the haupia to be quite pleasing to the palate."

"Eh, it was alright," shrugged Helga. "But nothing beats good-old salty potato chips."

Meanwhile, outside of the kitchen, Kevin was pushing open the door, but slowly, as if he wasn't ready to leave yet. "Well, Arnold, it's been… weird. I'm sorry about your grandma, though, that much I know for sure."

"It's okay," said Arnold. "Thanks for being here, both of you."

"Oh, Arnold, you know I'd like ever so much to help you finish cleaning up after all this, but my dad said I had to be back in time for supper…" Lila giggled a bit. "Although after that roast pig, I'm not sure I have any room left for any more food today!"

"We're almost done here," said Arnold, gesturing towards the room, being swept by a few employees. "We don't expect you to do anything more. Just you being here was more than enough."

"Oh, Arnold," said Lila again, wrapping her arms around him in a big hug, "I know I've said it before, but my deepest condolences to you and your grandpa, and if you ever need anyone to talk to, you know I'm here."

"Yeah, I know," said Arnold, returning the hug. "Thanks, Lila."

Lila let go of Arnold. "Well, I'll see you in school tomorrow."

"Yeah, see ya, Arnold," said Kevin.

"Bye," said Arnold with a cordial smile. "Thanks for coming."

"Are you going my way, Lila?" Kevin asked.

"Well, yes, but…" Lila gave Kevin an astute smile. "I'm perfectly fine with you walking with me, Kevin, but only as long as you remember that I just like you as a friend, and I don't feel romantically about you in any way whatsoever."

"…oh. Oh. Um… well, not like I was… I mean, I don't feel that way about _you… _well, not that much…" Kevin stammered, fidgeting a bit.

"Just quit while you're ahead, Kevin," said Arnold, trying his best to keep himself from smiling too. "Lila's only interested in Hubert."

"…_Hubert?" _Kevin made a face of total incredulity and disgust, mouthing the words "Hubert Rudgren?" to Arnold.

Arnold nodded gravely, his expression one of complete "yes-I-know-and-it-totally-freaks-me-out-too".

"Oh, _Hubert," _Lila sighed happily, looking up to the ceiling. "You should see his collection of flannel shirts. He's ever so interesting, and handsome, and sophisticated, and—"

"Um, you know what, Lila?" Kevin interrupted awkwardly. "I just remembered that I need to go and visit my cousin's… best friend's… coach's… niece… who lives on 95th and Laurel. So I guess I can't walk with you after all." And with that, he bolted out of the door.

"Oh, poor thing," murmured Lila. "I certainly hope I didn't hurt his feelings too much."

"He'll be fine," smiled Arnold.

"Oh yes, I'm sure he will," said Lila, also smiling. "I'm ever so certain he'll end up with Melissa one of these days… it's a good thing it never worked out between the two of you." She pushed open the door. "See you tomorrow, Arnold."

"See you, Lila—oh, hey, Gerald."

Gerald walked in just as Lila walked out, holding three plastic bags from the corner gas station/convenience store. "Junk food, here we come! Time to treat ourselves after all we've done!"

"_You've _hardly done any cleaning up at all," said Arnold, good-naturedly raising an eyebrow.

"Junk food? Lemme at it!" Helga bounded out of the kitchen, Phoebe right behind her.

"You can have anything except the Doritos… they're mine." Gerald thrust the bags into Helga's arms. "Oh, and those salted nut rolls are Arnold's."

"I'll take a Fig Newton to start with," said Helga, pulling one out of the bottom of the bag. "Here, Feebs, do you want some pretzels or some potato chips?"

"Oh, I don't know…" Phoebe shrugged. "I'll take either."

"Do you want to share my Doritos with me?" Gerald suddenly asked.

Phoebe looked at him in surprise. "Pardon me?"

"I mean… if you'd like to…"

"Oh sure, and you weren't willing to share them with _me," _Helga muttered, but she was also smiling.

Phoebe grinned. "I'd love to, Gerald."

Arnold, meanwhile, wasn't seeming to take in anything of what had just happened. "Salted… salted nut rolls! _That's _what I was missing!"

Gerald looked at Arnold in confusion. "You were missing a salted nut roll? Man, Arnold, I know how much you love those things, but if it was really that dire of a need, why didn't you send me out for food sooner?"

"No, it's not—" Arnold reached into one of the bags, pulled out the salted nut rolls, and hurriedly made his way past them and towards the stage area without another word.

"Sheesh," muttered Gerald. "He's officially checked into the Weirdness Hotel."

"Criminy, Gerald, lay off him," Helga snapped. "His grandma just died and he had to put up with the weirdest funeral in the history of mankind. Of course he's going to be acting a little… _weird!"_

"I know, I know!" Gerald countered harshly. "I'm not knocking him at all, and I totally understand that he's got a heap of crap on his plate today! It's just…" The harshness in his voice subsided into confusion. _"That _kind of reaction to a salted nut roll?"

Arnold, in the other corner of the room, was indeed still staring incredulously at the salted nut rolls, but not because he had been craving them. No, this was more than just a craving. Seeing them had suddenly reminded him of something from his childhood, and simultaneously answered a question he had even forgotten he had asked.

Valentine's Day, second grade.

Getting store-bought valentines with generic "Let's be friends, Valentine!" messages was all fine and dandy, but what the kids _really _looked forward to was the candy taped to the valentine's cards. And that day, Arnold had really hit the jackpot, because he had gotten not one, but _two _salted nut rolls.

But, just after school, while the kids were filing out of school, a couple of fourth grade bullies pushed Arnold so hard that he fell, his valentine box flying out of his arms and spilling out, all the contents falling down the sewage drain.

He didn't mind so much that he lost the valentines… but the _candy… _the _salted nut rolls…_

But then, the next day, when he made his way to class and went to put his mittens in his cubby hole, he found, to his surprise, a _new _hoard of candy waiting for him. A hoard a good deal bigger than the one he had lost. And a hoard with THREE salted nut rolls.

He of course asked everyone in class who did it. If they knew who did it. Nobody knew. Nobody confessed to it.

Arnold couldn't remember specifically asking Helga, but he was sure that he had, and he was equally sure that her answer had been something along the lines of, "No way, football head, why would I give _you _candy?"

He never found out. And as happy as he was about the whole deal, he also was frustrated a bit that he _didn't _know who it was, because he wanted more than anything to thank that person, to do them a favor in return. But whoever that person was did a great job of hiding himself… _herself _from him.

Arnold looked back over at Gerald, Phoebe, and Helga… or more specifically, at Helga, wondering if that person could have actually been right in front of him this entire time.

"Come on, Feebs," Helga was saying, "we've still got dishes to wash."

"I'll help you," Gerald offered instantly.

Helga gave him a face of annoyance. "You only need two people to do the dishes, Geraldo—one to wash and one to dry."

"Well then, I suppose I'll go and pick up the rest of the leis—" Phoebe began.

"No, I will," Helga interrupted her. "I'll leave you two to get your hands dirty… in the most literal sense." She winked at them.

"Oh, come on, Helga," Phoebe said, blushing profusely.

Gerald was even blushing a bit too, but still managed to take another jab at Helga. "Yeah, really, show some subtlety. I mean, if I had no class at all, I'd totally be commenting right now on the expression on your face when you and Arnold walked out of that storage room together—"

"Alright, in the kitchen, _NOW!" _Helga commanded, only half-jokingly.

Gerald and Phoebe only smiled at each other, then at her, before turning around and entering the kitchen.

Helga sighed in irritation, dropping her Fig Newton wrapper into the trashcan. "They wouldn't be smiling if they knew that absolutely nothing happened in that storage room." Her scowl suddenly vanished. "Except, oh my God, something _did _happen and it was _heavenly… oohhh!" _She sighed blissfully, leaning against the wall for a moment with her hands over her heart. Then, quickly, she shook her head and made her way across the room, the mood gone. "Hey, Arnold," she called, "wanna help me get all these leis?" _And do not do not do NOT make a "help me get laid" joke here, you have more class than that, even though I wish he WOULD…_

Arnold made his way to Helga just as quickly as she was making her way to him, meeting her almost in the center of the room. "Helga," he said with a slight urgency, "this might seem like a really weird and random question, but…"

Helga snorted. "It's been a really weird and random _day, _football head. Lay it on me." _Oh shit stop saying the word "lay" you pervert!_

"Do you remember Valentine's Day, second grade? After school I got pushed and I lost all my valentines down the sewer…" Arnold kept direct eye contact with Helga, noting the almost instant spark of recognition in her eyes. "And then the next day someone left me another batch of candy, except I never figured out who it was?"

"_Yes, _I remember," said Helga, squirming a bit.

"Well—"

"And _yes, _it was me," Helga said quickly. "I mean, who _else _would it have been? You just lost your biggest jackpot of candy that you'd have until Halloween, and there _I _was so undeserving of all of mine? Of _course _it was me who left you that candy! And it wasn't just mine, I raided my dad's candy drawer for more salted nut rolls, and I threatened to beat up some first graders if they didn't give me their candy, although of course I didn't want it for _me, _I wanted it for _you, _and—"

What was left of her speech was muffled into simply a "mmfff" sound, for Arnold didn't even wait for her to finish speaking before he kissed her. Suddenly, unexpectedly, passionately, and yet tenderly, Helga was at first too shocked to stop herself from "mmfff"ing against him for a good few seconds… but slowly the reality of the situation began to sink in—

_ **HOLY SHIT HE'S ACTUALLY KISSING ME WITHOUT ME PUTTING THE IDEA INTO HIS HEAD OH MY FUCKING ** _ _ **GOD** _

She flopped. She melted. Something inside of her was ignited and set off such a spark that she was positive her insides literally _were _melting from the heat. She couldn't even stand on her feet anymore, she was actually _falling against him…_

Remarkably, it was Helga who pulled away from the kiss, for the sole reason that she actually thought she was going to pass out if they continued like that for much longer. She stared at him, breathing heavily, managing to squeak out three words: "Holy… fucking… _shit."_

"Sorry," Arnold apologized quickly, his arms around Helga's shoulders and doing his best to keep her semi-upright, "it's just that I've always wanted to thank whoever did that…"

"Damn. You can thank me _anytime," _said Helga, still trying to get her breathing at a more steady rate.

"Hmm-hmm, what have we _here?"_

Arnold and Helga both quickly turned their heads towards the kitchen, where Gerald and Phoebe were leaning out of the window countertop and grinning.

"Nothing—I _tripped_—"

"I was just helping her get back on her feet—"

"Get her back on her feet?" Gerald grinned. "Kisses like that tend to bring girls to their _knees, _Arnold."

Phoebe giggled, her face sporting a wide smile.

"Get back to your dishes," Helga snapped at them, pushing herself away from Arnold. "And Arnold, help me get these… these flowers."

"Alright… in a minute," Arnold murmured, looking down at the salted nut roll in his hand.

Slowly he opened the wrapper.


	12. Chapter 12

It was late that night, later than what Arnold was normally up, and yet he was still sitting in the boarding house kitchen, staring at the wall and yet not seeming to take particular notice of anything about it.

"Come on, Shortman, it's time for bed," Phil said, waving his hand in front of Arnold's eyes as if testing for a response.

"Huh… oh, yeah, right, Grandpa," Arnold mumbled.

Phil didn't need to be a psychologist to see that something was on Arnold's mind. "It was a nice eulogy you gave today," he said, sitting down in the chair next to him. "Your grandma loved it, I'm sure."

"Thanks," smiled Arnold. "And I hope she liked that crazy polka luau…"

"'Course she did! I swear, Arnold, when I was up there dancing I felt like she was right there with me, having the best time of her life! Er, afterlife," Phil corrected himself.

"You don't feel like any of that was… inappropriate, do you?" Arnold asked.

Phil snorted dismissively. "What would have been inappropriate would have been if we'd had a normal weeping and wailing funeral. That wouldn't have been right for your grandma. What we did was celebrate her life, and celebrate the life we all have. That's what she would have done for any of us."

Arnold smiled. "You're right, Grandpa. I feel better about it all now."

"But something's still bugging you," said Phil, getting right to the point.

Arnold shook his head. "No, I'm… I just need to get to bed, I have school tomorrow…" He stared at the wall without looking at it again.

"Come on, Arnold, how are you going to sleep when you keep staring at things?"

Arnold sighed. "I just wonder if…" He abruptly shook his head again. "Nothing."

"Something's on your mind, and you'll get no sleep with it there, so you'd best let it out," said Phil.

"I just… how do you know if you're in love?" Arnold finally asked.

"Ooh, it's _that _doozy of a question," said Phil softly.

"I shouldn't have asked you that," said Arnold quickly, standing up out of his chair and moving to the hallway. "Not today—"

"Not today? Well, when, then? Are you waiting for some sign from heaven with harps and angels telling you, 'Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh! There she iiiiiiiiiiiiis! 'Cuz if you are…" Phil also stood up, but instead of following Arnold he suddenly jumped up on the table, throwing his arms out wide and warbling, "Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh—"

"Grandpa, I'm _serious!" _Arnold snapped.

"So am I!" said Phil, quickly sitting back down on the edge of the table. "You love her. If you have to ask, then you do."

"If I have to ask, it means I'm not sure," said Arnold uneasily.

"You have to ask because you're just worried, that's all," Phil countered. "Can you come up with any reasons why you _don't _love her? If I'm going to be your sign from God, then so be it—the answer to your question is a tenfold 'yes'!"

"Grandpa, _please!" _Arnold muttered, pressing his hand to his face.

Phil stood up from the table and put his hands on Arnold's shoulders. "Listen, Arnold, in all seriousness here… I can't tell you how you know you're in love. It's different for everybody, and the only one constant is just that when you know, you know. But I've seen the way you are when you're around her, and when you talk about her. You just completely light up. So, from my own, probably biased opinion… it seems to me that yes, you love her."

Arnold managed to smile. "You're just saying that because you like her better than my other girlfriends."

"I'd say that even if I thought she was the antichrist. I'm just telling you what I see, Arnold. Now what do _you _see?"

Arnold took a deep breath, but more in thought, not as a prelude to an answer.

"She's really amazing, Grandpa," he said softly. "She's so smart, she has all these ideas about things that I'd never come up with in a million years, and the way she uses words… And she can always make me laugh and feel better, no matter what… and she's got such a good heart, even though she doesn't seem to want people to know about it…"

"Well." Phil smiled. "You're going to have to figure out for yourself if that's love or not."

Arnold looked at Phil in mild surprise, waiting for more, but Phil just patted Arnold on the shoulder and walked out of the room.

"Sleep tight, Shortman."

…

Phil was right—sleeping with everything that was on Arnold's mind was _impossible._

It was 2:06 AM, and yet the light in Arnold's room was still on, as he paced back and forth from wall to wall. With every step, he felt himself growing closer and closer to… to _something, _but he wasn't sure if that's what he needed to get closer to.

Was he really in love with her?

Part of him felt that it was still too early to decide, but another part of him argued that if this wasn't love, he didn't know what could possibly be greater than this. He had never felt this way or this strongly about anyone before… but what did he know about love? How _was _he supposed to know?

Maybe straight from the horse's mouth?

He quickly made his way over to his desk and picked up the little pink book. "Come on, Helga, talk to me," he murmured, flipping it open to a random page and reading the poems on it, turning the page, and then…

_I heard it on the radio!  
That song that reminds me of you!  
But how vague and how obvious that is  
I see you in everything, it's true_

_It might be just physical attraction  
That makes me lose my senses this way  
Lord knows your shimmering eyes  
Can distract me every single day!   
(And do they ever!)_

_But he doesn't sing about appearances  
It's not looks that has him ensnared  
He sings about what's inside  
Her heart is what makes him care_

_My love, I don't care what you look like  
Although your football head is a sight  
It's who you are inside that I adore  
And what makes my heart take flight_

_The feeling I get when I see you  
Is more than just a physical rush!  
What else can I call these emotions?  
It's love, and it turns me to mush._

Arnold stared at the page incredulously. Of course, he had read this poem before, but only just now did it actually really _affect _him. Only just now was he struck with the feeling that Helga, six years ago, had somehow known he was going to be reading this and had actually spoken directly to him.

It _was _more than just a physical rush he felt.

"I _do_ love her," he murmured.

There were no harps and angels descending, as Grandpa has suggested. There wasn't even any change in the sound of the occasional car driving past, or the hum of the electricity… but still, there was something glowing inside of him that felt even stronger than a band of angels singing.

Yes. He loved her. He loved her! It had taken him awhile to figure it out, but that couldn't be helped, he'd never felt this way before… but all the emotions swelling in him as he thought of her, clutching her little pink book to his chest and smiling, couldn't be anything else. And now that he finally realized, finally acknowledged his feelings, everything suddenly felt right with his world.

Wait.

Not everything.

How was he supposed to tell her?

He set the book back down on his desk, biting his lip. What kind of a worry was that, anyway? She was already his girlfriend, and he already knew that she was in love with him. What kind of reaction was she possibly going to have other than a positive one? …That is, unless she thought he was joking… then she might throw her algebra book at him again.

Arnold winced. No, he had to let her know in a way that she knew he was being serious, in a way that actually sounded like he'd put some thought into it, that he was dead sure of what he was saying, that…

He pulled out a sheet of lined paper from his book bag and sat down at his desk, pencil in hand. Helga had been written him dozens of love notes since they'd begun dating; perhaps the best way to convince her how he felt was to write her one in return.

…

"You didn't ask him out?"

Phoebe smiled abashedly as she and Helga entered school that morning, making their way down the hallway. "I did tell you that I wasn't sure how appropriate it would be to ask someone out at a funeral."

"Come on, who cares about that? There's plenty of romantic movies where the characters hook up at a funeral."

"I'm not saying we didn't… hook up," smiled Phoebe. "We're both going to the homecoming football game next Friday, after all, and we'll probably sit together…"

"Well, it's a step, at least," shrugged Helga. "I mean, it's no homecoming dance or anything, but at least it's _something."_

"Oh, I don't really want to go to homecoming anyway," said Phoebe. "I don't want to go buy a dress."

"Who says you have to buy a dress?" asked Helga. The two of them had made their way to her locker, and Helga quickly spun her combination. "I could whip up something interesting for you."

Phoebe recoiled a bit. "Um, I'm not sure if I could pull off your fashion sense."

"Sure you can. Anyone can." Helga tossed her book bag in the bottom of her locker and grabbed her English literature textbook, not even noticing that the force of her book bag being dropped had sent a folded sheet of paper flying out.

Phoebe noticed it, however. "Here you go, Helga, this fell out of your locker," she said, grabbing it and handing it to her.

Helga looked at it quizzically. "Hmm. What is this?" She turned it over in her hands, finding her name written on the other side.

"It looks like someone left you a note," said Phoebe.

Helga rolled her eyes. _"Duh. _And it looks… it looks like Arnold's handwriting…" She hesitated.

"Why don't you open it and find out what he wants?" Phoebe suggested.

"Why don't _you _give me some space?" Helga snapped back. "I don't exactly like reading with an audience."

"Backing off," smiled Phoebe. "I'll go get a drink from the drinking fountain."

Helga had her space, but she was still trembling as she held the letter in her hands.

"It's probably nothing," she said to herself. "He's probably just wanting to let me know that he needs my input for what he's going to wear for homecoming or something. Heck, it might be a thank-you letter for being there at the funeral yesterday. It's probably not a…" She gulped, unable to finish the sentence.

A break-up letter.

She carefully unfolded the paper, shocked to see that it was _two _sheets of paper, the first one written on both the front and back. Her blood froze. This certainly didn't _look _like a quick note.

She leaned against the edge of her locker, breathing heavily. _Alright, old girl, you knew this was coming eventually. So you're going to take this maturely. And you're not going to cry. At least not here. Shit, I've gotten more than I ever expected_—_I'm the luckiest girl on earth! And all good luck has to run out sometime, and mine just has. I'll still always have the memories… heck, yesterday ALONE was enough happiness to sustain me for one lifetime!_

Yesterday, after finally arriving back home from the funeral, everything that had actually happened to her suddenly caught up with her, leaving her in a sort of happy daze the rest of the day—not the way one should feel after attending a funeral. And it wasn't just the kisses—although God, that kiss of gratitude almost made her shit bricks; and if he kissed her hands like that for the rest of eternity she wouldn't complain in the slightest.

But what she kept reliving the most was when he had said "I want you". The way he said it, the _fact _that he said it, the way he had looked at her when he had said it… it was a good thing he was on the ground, because Helga would have fallen to her knees regardless from those three little words. Not only from shock, but also from complete and utter despair that her poor, grieving Arnold was hurting and lost and needed to be comforted… and then again, from complete and utter _happiness _that of all the people who could have comforted him, he wanted _her._

But apparently not anymore.

Helga gulped again. _The sooner I read it, the sooner I'll be able to get on with it! Waiting isn't going to change what it says!_

_He's breaking up with me. He's breaking up with me. He doesn't love me. He doesn't even want me._

_And I knew it was coming. I knew this was coming, so I'm going to buck up and take it!_

And with that, she finally forced herself to start reading Arnold's note.

_Dear Helga,_

_I'm sorry for how awkward this note is going to sound. I need to tell you something important, a lot of things actually, and I just can't write like you do. But I know if I tried to actually explain it to you in person it would come out of my mouth even worse than what it'll come out here as. _

_There's a lot I haven't told you. I never wanted to lie to you or hide anything from you but they were things about myself that I was slow to realize. I didn't even realize until being with you that you were a big part of the reason why Wendy and Melissa didn't work out. I didn't realize it at the time but when I was dating them I kept comparing them to you, and they kept coming up short. I'm not saying it's your fault why I broke up with them or even blaming you for it. In fact maybe I should thank you, because if I was still dating them I wouldn't be with you now, right? _

_There is something about you that I've always felt but I've never been sure of how to say it, or that I even should. It's that, even in elementary school, I always really liked it when you were nice to me. And when you told me you loved me it did freak me out at first, but then I realized that I liked having you love me. And last month when I kind of forced the truth out of you (sorry for being a jerk to you there by the way) I was really hoping that the truth was that you DID still love me. I guess maybe I was hoping that even if you didn't you'd lie and say that you did. I'm glad that the truth and what I wanted ended up being the same._

_I'm apologizing way too much in this note but I really do feel bad for the way I've been kind of wishy-washy with you all this time, and especially this past month. It wasn't fair to you to lead you on without giving you a hint of what I was feeling, but I never quite figured out what I was feeling either until just now. I still can't seem to figure out how to write it out. Have you ever had a big bolt from the blue when you've finally realized something important, something that you should have realized sooner? I just had that moment from one of your poems you wrote in the fourth grade. The way I feel about you, and I've felt this way for you pretty much since we started dating, can't be pushed aside as just hormones or a physical rush or anything. I didn't want to be hasty and jump into anything that might be wrong, for your sake as well as mine, but basically I've just realized that it's dumb and hurtful to you to keep acting like I'm not in love with you. In fact I think it's more hurtful than it would be if I told you I loved you but then fell 'out of love' or whatever. I don't want to hide things from you anymore. And like I said, it's dumb of me to think that what I'm feeling ISN'T love._

_I'm sorry this note is so long and rambling and it probably doesn't make any sense. Basically what I'm trying to say through all this is that I love you, and I wanted you to know that._

_Love,_

_Arnold_

Helga stared slack-jawed at the note for a good ten seconds before she realized that her legs seemed to be turning into jelly.

Phoebe, back from the drinking fountain, gave a look of alarm at Helga's quite-literally unmoving stance. "Helga? Are you alright?"

"He… he…" Helga finally forced her mouth to form a few more words. "He _loves _me!"

A surprised grin broke across Phoebe's face. "He loves you? He really…"

"Please pinch me. Wait, don't pinch me. If this is a dream I don't want to wake up." Her legs finally giving way to her emotions, Helga flopped against the edge of her open locker again, clutching the note to her chest and, despite her earlier ultimatum to herself, sobbing. "Oh my fucking _GOD, _Phoebe, he _LOVES _me! He loves _ME!_ I can't believe this is actually happening… I can't… I can hardly breathe…"

Phoebe gave Helga a huge bear hug, partly in order to keep herself from falling any further. "Oh, Helga, I'm so happy for you! Are you… are you going to need any help getting to class? The bell's going to ring in about a minute…"

"I'll make it… I'll float my way to class somehow…"

"This is so amazing, Helga," said Phoebe excitedly, tightening her hug before letting go. "I know how long you've wanted this…"

"Wanted doesn't even _begin _to cover it… holy shit, Phoebe, he _loves _me!" Helga shrieked in total joy, wrapping her arms around her body gleefully, the note still pressed to her chest. "Criminy, I have a feeling I'm going to be saying that a lot today…"

"Well, just try your best to pay attention to what your teachers say, too," smiled Phoebe.

"This can't be real. I _must _be dreaming. And if this _is _real, then it's just Arnold playing a sick joke on me. Except he doesn't play sick jokes, because he's sweet and kind and caring and _he loves me!"_

Phoebe's smile grew wider. "Yep, you're going to be saying it all day."

…

"Man, Arnold, you have _got _to give me some pointers," Gerald said as he and Arnold left psychology class later that day.

"On what?" Arnold asked, he and Gerald walking as slowly as possible without risking anyone else knocking them over. There was only half a hallway before they had to part and go their separate directions, so any conversations after psychology had to be quick ones.

"On kissing, Casanova. That smooch you planted on Helga yesterday is _still _making her googly-eyed. In history today Ms. Schroeder had to call on her three times before she even _heard _her."

Arnold smiled knowingly, not looking at Gerald. "I don't think that's because of the kiss."

"It's not?" Gerald put his hand on his hip inquisitively. "What is it, then?"

But this was where their paths forked, and Arnold only grinned at Gerald, saying, "Forget it. See you later," before heading down to the right to his algebra class.

But Gerald didn't forget about it.

"Okay, spill the beans, lover-boy!" he demanded to Arnold as he approached his locker after the final bell had rung and signaled the end of the day, Lila looking on with a touch of both confusion and amusement.

Arnold cocked an eyebrow. "About…"

"About Helga's descent into La-la-land! What else? You two didn't…" Gerald waggled his eyebrows a la Groucho Marx.

"Aaugh, _no, _Gerald, for crying out loud!" cried Arnold. "I just wrote her a note, that's all!"

"That's all? That must have been some note!"

"I'm guessing it was something she's been waiting for for a long time, though," said Lila with a warm smile.

"Aw man," moaned Gerald. "You didn't write her a sappy love letter, did you?"

Arnold flinched in defense automatically. "Well, I hope it wasn't _sappy…"_

At that moment, Helga and Phoebe stepped into sight from the west hallway, Helga stopping in her tracks for a moment upon seeing Arnold.

Arnold turned and saw them, or rather saw Helga, and visibly brightened.

And in an instant, she flung her arms around him and kissed him passionately.

Gerald shot a look of shock to Phoebe and Lila, but they were only looking on the scene before them with satisfied smiles. As he followed their lead and turned his attentions to Arnold and Helga, he moved his hand to close his jaw shut… and was surprised to find that it had actually shut on its own, all the better to house the grin that was suddenly appearing on _his _face.

"So I take it you read my note then?" Arnold asked, pulling away from the kiss.

"Oh Arnold, you perfect, amazing, romantic, angelic, marvelous—"

Arnold laughed. "I love you too."

Helga sighed happily, touching her forehead to his. "And you say you don't have a way with words…"

"Um, hey, lovebirds?" Gerald interrupted. "Are we going to go get a bite to eat now, or what?"

Arnold smiled, pulling away from Helga but still holding her hand. "Yeah, let's go. I'm starved."

"I hope you don't mind if Hubert comes too!"

Arnold, Helga, Gerald, and Phoebe all stared at Lila… and Hubert Rudgren, in all his ill-begotten glory, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, Lila proudly holding his hand.

There was silence for a few moments.

"Of course we don't mind, Lila," Arnold finally said with a smile. "I guess we'll be going on a triple-date today, then."

"A what?" Phoebe asked in surprise.

"Yeah, a triple-date… I like the sound of that," said Gerald, quickly grabbing hold of Phoebe's hand.

"As long as we don't eat fish," Helga said, sniffing her nose at Hubert disdainfully.

The six friends strolled out of school, each holding hands with their significant other, each not caring about the smell of fish, nor the storm clouds rolling in, nor even of the mountains of homework they had stacked in their book bags. Inconveniences, yes. But they paled and vanished next to what was really important… next to who was holding their hand.

Helga looked at Arnold, who smiled back at her and gave her hand a squeeze, and she sighed happily.

_So this is what it feels like when the world is completely and utterly RIGHT._

THE END.


End file.
